


To Kill You With a Kiss

by Paimpont



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: First Time, M/M, Slash, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-07
Updated: 2013-10-08
Packaged: 2017-12-28 18:35:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 29
Words: 88,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/995179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Paimpont/pseuds/Paimpont
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Dumbledore's death, Harry searches for answers in the Pensieve. But something goes wrong. Trapped inside a memory, Harry finds himself back at Hogwarts in 1945 where he meets an 18 year old Tom Riddle teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Take this kiss upon the brow!  
And, in parting from you now,  
Thus much let me avow-  
You are not wrong, who deem  
That my days have been a dream;  
Yet if hope has flown away  
In a night, or in a day,  
In a vision, or in none,  
Is it therefore the less gone?  
All that we see or seem  
Is but a dream within a dream.

~Edgar Allan Poe: "A Dream Within a Dream"

...

Perhaps, thought Harry, it was all a dream. Draco, the failed assassin, so deathly pale in the moonlight. Snape's face, distorted beyond recognition, as he points his wand at the man who trusted him and utters the unforgivable curse. Dumbledore's body, lying broken at the bottom of the tower... Perhaps I dreamt it all.

He glanced around the headmaster's office. The desk was still covered in books and papers, as if Dumbledore could be expected to resume his work any moment. Fawkes' cage still stood in the corner, and Harry half expected to catch a glimpse of something fiery and scarlet. But the cage was empty; the door was broken now and dangled mournfully from one hinge. Harry tried to put the door back properly, but it wouldn't stay up. It was no dream. I will never wake up from this. No magic on earth can undo Snape's deadly spell. Dumbledore is gone, and Fawkes left with him.

I am alone, and I don't know what to do. Dumbledore left me a terrifying task: I have to vanquish the most powerful dark wizard the world has ever known. I have to destroy the horcruxes, the hidden objects that house the fragments of Voldemort's dark soul. But I don't know what they are, or where to begin looking. How could Dumbledore simply die, vanish into nothing, and leave me to complete this huge and hopeless task on my own?

Where would a dark wizard hide his soul? How am I supposed to know? Why didn't Dumbledore tell me more about the horcruxes? He knew that I am the one who is destined to face Voldemort in the end, and how did he prepare me? By having me come to his office and share his memories of the past... Was that all the help you could give me, headmaster? Was this the only weapon you had to give me when I have to face the dread Dark Lord? An old man's memories?

Harry's glance lingered on the timeworn cabinet that housed the headmaster's Pensieve. A delicate silver mist wafted from a small crack between the cabinet doors and lingered in the air for a moment before dissolving into nothing.

Harry walked slowly toward the cabinet. Dumbledore's memories... Why did we spend hours delving into recollections of the past instead of going over battle strategies, defensive spells, plans for finding and destroying the horcruxes? Why was he so obsessed with remembering? The oak doors swung open at Harry's touch. The Pensieve stood there as he remembered it, an ancient vessel carved out of plain grey stone. Harry ran his finger over the strange runes carved around the edge, mysterious and meaningless signs he could not decipher. On a shelf above the Pensieve rows upon rows of small glass vials glittered in the luminous mist that rose from the surface of the vessel. Memories of the past, fragments of lost time, trapped in little stoppered bottles... Whose memories were they? Most of the vials were unmarked, but a few were labeled with initials in an elegant hand Harry recognized as Dumbledore's: AD&GG. AD. AD&AD. AD&ED. AD&GG. TR. TR. TR. TR&HP...

Harry frowned. TR. Tom Riddle. These must be the memories of Tom Riddle that Dumbledore had collected, the ones we visited together in the Pensieve. But what is that last one, the vial marked with Tom Riddle's initials and mine together? Harry reached out for the little glass bottle and stared, mesmerized, at the shimmering strands that swirled within. Is this someone's memory of the night when Voldemort tried to kill me, the night when he murdered my parents? Is there some deeper mystery to the events of that night that I have yet to discover?

He unstoppered the vial with a trembling hand and poured its glittering contents into the waters of the Pensieve. Breathing deeply, Harry plunged himself into the radiant silver mist. In the next instant, the world began to dissolve into swirling lights and shadows, and a silver whirlpool engulfed him, pulled him down into its depths. He couldn't breathe, couldn't think...

Then the frantic whirling stopped, and Harry found himself back precisely where he started, in the headmaster's office at Hogwarts. He shook his head, dazed. What just happened? Perhaps the memory had not worked properly? But the next instant, Harry realized that he was no longer alone in the headmaster's office; an elderly wizard was sitting behind the desk now. For a wild moment, Harry imagined it to be Dumbledore, and his heart leaped in his chest. But then he saw that the wizard was not Dumbledore at all, but a small, wizened man whose friendly glance lacked both the astuteness and the humor he was used to seeing in the headmaster's gaze. Harry looked back, but the cabinet that contained the Pensieve was no longer there. Of course. This is just a memory of the past. This must be a previous headmaster. Who was headmaster before Dumbledore's time? Armando Dippet, was it?

"Sit down, my boy," said Professor Dippet kindly and waved at a chair in front of his desk.

Who is he speaking to? There is no one else here. Harry looked around in confusion.

"It's all right, no need to be shy." With a sudden shock, Harry realized that Dippet was speaking to him.

He sank down into the chair and stared at the headmaster. What is happening? How can he see me? I am not a part of this memory; I didn't live in this time. I am merely seeing it from the outside, from the future.

"So you are..." Professor Dippet consulted a piece of parchment on the desk in front of him. "Elias Black. Welcome to Hogwarts, my boy. We are glad to have you with us. Your guardian wrote to me and explained the details of your tragic past - no need to go into all of that right now. I'm sure it's painful for you to talk about."

Elias Black? Who is Elias Black? And why am I experiencing this memory through his eyes? Harry's hand went automatically to his forehead, and his fingers found the familiar scar. I am still me.

"Ah, yes. You scar. I'm sure it will heal in time, my dear boy," said Professor Dippet softly. "Now, I understand that you have never attended school before, although your guardian's letter indicates that you have learned quite a bit of magic during your travels. You may find yourself a little behind in some of your subjects, but I am certain that your professors will be understanding in the beginning. Your fellow students will be curious about you, naturally, but they have been warned not to ask too many questions, as per your guardian's instructions."

He beamed at Harry. "I will have someone show you around the school momentarily. But first, there is the small matter of your house placement. Seeing that you are a Black, I don't think there can be much doubt about the result..." He got up and took a frayed old hat down from the shelf behind him. Harry felt his heart hammering in his chest. The Sorting Hat? I wonder if it will recognize me? Or will it think I am Elias Black as well?

The old headmaster placed the hat gingerly on Harry's head, and Harry felt it stir to life above him. A voice whispered, so softly that it may just have been inside his mind: "How very strange..."

Harry could hear the door to the headmaster's office opening and the soft sound of footsteps entering, but he did not turn around to see who it was.

The headmaster whispered to someone: "Have a seat," and then went on to address the hat: "I do apologize for disturbing you again so shortly after this year's sorting, but as you see, we do have one additional student who needs sorting. This is Elias Black, a new seventh year student."

"Elias Black?" An soundless chuckle ran through Harry's mind, followed by more silent words: "Is that what you are calling yourself, boy? Elias... Alias, more likely. And a Black? I don't think so! Something about you is strangely familiar, as if I have already dreamt of sorting you. I dream so many things, sleeping here on this shelf between sortings. Some of the things I dream have come to pass, and other not. Perhaps you are one of those things that didn't happen yet."

"Well? What's taking so long?" Professor Dippet was beginning to sound impatient now. "Just sort him, will you?"

The hat whispered in Harry's mind: "How shall I sort you, you nameless child? Are you a lion or a serpent?"

Harry thought for a second, and his mind whispered back: I am both. But perhaps you had better put me in Slytherin this time.

"This time? You mean we shall meet again? How very curious! As you wish, my enigmatic Elias, " breathed the hat. Then it proclaimed out loud: "Slytherin!"

"I knew it!" Professor Dippet lifted the hat from Harry's head and gave it a curious glance. "Took it long enough, though! Perhaps this hat is getting too old for this." He stuffed the hat back on the shelf, where it fell silent.

"Or perhaps the hat did not know how to sort him." The soft voice that spoke behind him made Harry's blood turn to ice in his veins. He is here. Here in this time. Here, inside this memory.

He turned slowly and faced the person who had spoken.

"Elias," Professor Dippet's voice seemed to come from far away. "This is one of your teachers, Professor Riddle."

I almost forgot that the Dark Lord once had a face like an angel. I had wondered why Slughorn, that old fool, would ever tell Tom Riddle about horcruxes, about the dark and vile magic that no human being should know. I did not realize how strangely bewitching the face of evil can be... No wonder poor Slughorn could not keep silent.

Voldemort is a few years older now than when I last saw him in the Pensieve. He is a murderer already, I can see it in his eyes. He has committed his first murder and created his first horcrux. But he has not yet lost all trace of his humanity, and his dark soul is still hidden behind an angelic face.

"Mr. Riddle is our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher." There was a note of pride in the headmaster's voice.

"You teach Defense Against the Dark Arts?" Harry whispered. He stared at Tom Riddle, his mind swirling. Something is terribly wrong with this memory. Tom Riddle does not teach Defense Against the Dark Arts. He applies for the post the year after he graduates from Hogwarts, but Professor Dippet turns him down. And years later, Dumbledore will too...

Professor Dippet chuckled. "Ah, you are surprised, Elias! It is true that Mr. Riddle is still very young, barely a year older than you, but I can assure you that he is a brilliant professor. I am glad I took Dumbledore's advice in the end and hired him."

"Do you doubt my qualifications for this position, Mr. Black?" There was a momentary chill in Tom Riddle's silver voice, and Harry felt a sudden shiver in his bones.

He shook his head slowly and forced himself to look into the grey eyes of the future Voldemort. "No." His voice came out as a whisper. "I would never doubt your abilities for a moment."

"Good." Strange, how beautiful he was when he was still human... Who could have thought that Voldemort once blushed?

"Let me show you around the school, Mr. Black." Tom Riddle grasped Harry's arm and steered him towards the door. "I know this old castle well; I was a student here myself for seven years."

They stepped out into the corridor. Harry looked up into the pale, half-familiar face of his guide with wonder. What is happening to me? Why am I here, inside this twisted memory of things that never were? Voldemort is offering to show me around Hogwarts. Perhaps he will show me where he will hide his horcruxes in the future. Perhaps this is all Dumbledore's doing, after all. Perhaps he has devised a way for me to get to know Voldemort so well that I will learn where he will conceal his fragmented soul, years from now.

I wonder what would happen if I pointed my wand at him at this instant and uttered the killing curse. Is it possible to kill a memory? And what would happen in the future if I did?

He is staring at me now. What's this? He's reaching out and touching my scar... Does he remember me after all? He is nothing but a memory; can a memory from the past remember the future? Perhaps the Sorting Hat is not alone in dreaming of things that have not yet come to pass.

Harry held his breath as Tom Riddle's finger's brushed his scar, but the searing pain he had expected did not come.

"What an odd scar," said Tom softly. "How did you get it?"

Harry raised his eyes, bewildered, and met Tom Riddle's penetrating gaze. What shall I say? That you will one day give me this scar?

"It was... a dark wizard," he muttered finally. "I can't talk about it."

"You have some experience with dark magic, then?" Luminous grey eyes scrutinized his face, and Harry felt oddly unsettled. It feels as if he is on the verge of reading my mind. Perhaps I should have paid more attention to Snape's occlumency lessons.

"Dark magic? Yes, a bit," he said quickly. "But I have a lot to learn. I... I want to learn everything you know..."

Tom Riddle smiled then. "I am glad to hear it, Mr. Black." His voice was formal, as if he were trying to sound like a professor.

No walk had ever been stranger than Harry's walk through the ancient torchlit halls of Hogwarts with Voldemort by his side. Everything is the same. Everything except for him. Harry kept his eyes on the flagged stone floors because this seemed a great deal safer than meeting Tom Riddle's quicksilver gaze. At one point, they passed the evanescent figure of the Bloody Baron, the Slytherin house ghost.

"Good afternoon, Baron," said Tom Riddle politely, and Harry echoed: "Good afternoon."

An expression of wonder passed over the Baron's spectral features. "But that's not possible..." he whispered, staring at Harry. "You are..."

"My name is Elias Black," said Harry quickly. The Bloody Baron gazed at him for a moment before muttering: "Yes. Yes, of course. You just... reminded me of someone, Mr. Black."

They walked on. Tom Riddle pointed out the Great Hall and stairs leading to the various classrooms. Somehow, the familiar landscape of Hogwarts began to seem different in his presence now, transformed into an unfamiliar dreamscape. Everything looks the same, but it feels different. After descending a long winding staircase, they paused in front of the entrance to the Slytherin common room. The heavy oak door was emblazoned with a glittering silver serpent with emerald eyes.

"A serpent," said Tom Riddle in a low voice. "The symbol of Slytherin House. Have you read any Hogwarts history, Mr. Black? Can you tell me why the serpent has come to symbolize Slytherin?"

Harry nodded. "Yes, Professor Riddle. Salazar Slytherin was a parselmouth."

Tom Riddle shot him an approving glance. "That's right. It's an extraordinarily rare skill, the ability to speak the ancient serpent tongue. Perhaps that's a good thing; imagine if everyone had the ability to make serpents do their bidding..."

A smile flitted briefly over his pale features. Then he turned to the door and whispered: *Silver serpent, come to life.*

And the ornate serpent that decorated the door obeyed the Parseltongue command; it sprang from the door and began to writhe on the floor before them. Slowly, it raised its head and regarded Harry with viridian eyes; its head was poised to strike...

"Show me what you know of magic, Elias Black," said Tom Riddle softly.

Harry stood immovable for a moment.

"Use your wand, Elias."

The serpent's glance glittered with malevolence. Harry felt his heart thundering in his chest. Is this a challenge, Lord Voldemort?

*Silver serpent, return to your true form.* The serpent melted into the door as soon as Harry spoke to it, and the spark of life left its jeweled eyes.

Harry raised his eyes and looked at the young man by his side. Tom Riddle's face was white, but his grey eyes glittered as he met Harry's glance.

"You are... a parselmouth, Elias?" Tom Riddle's voice was hoarse.

Harry nodded, silently.

"Remarkable..." Tom stood immovable for a moment, lost in thought. Then he smiled. "I think we have a great deal in common, you and I. I look forward to getting to know you, Elias Black."


	2. Chapter 2

"Serpentigena!" Tom Riddle spoke softly to the serpent on the door. "Make sure you remember this password, Elias," he added as the door to the Slytherin common room swung open before them.

Harry nodded silently. Serpentigena? Serpent-born? That should be easy enough to remember, my Dark Lord.

The Slytherin common room of this time was not all that different from the way Harry recalled it from his brief visit during his second year at Hogwarts. The cavernous room had the same air of refined decadence he remembered. The dark green couches were plush and opulent, and the baroque chairs were adorned with twisting serpentine carvings and rich moss-colored velvets. There were too many skulls about for Harry's liking: real skulls displayed on shelves and low tables, and silver ones woven into the tapestries, caressed by embroidered serpents. Ornate silver lamps with malachite shades cast the room in a soft green light. Glass bottles filled with liquid of an unnatural emerald hue glittered among the ancient volumes that filled the book shelves. Absinthe? No, more likely to be some vile poison... In a corner of the common room, two young wizards were playing a silent game of knucklebones with what looked horribly like real bones.

A hush fell over the room as Harry entered with Tom Riddle. Tom Riddle may be only a year older than some of these students, but he is already more than a professor in their eyes. How they look at him, these future death eaters, as if they already glimpse the Dark Lord he will become...

"This," said Tom Riddle, his voice clear in the sudden silence, "is the new seventh year student you were told about, Elias Black. I am pleased to inform you that he was sorted into Slytherin House, and I ask you to do your utmost to make him feel welcome. Mr. Black is new to Hogwarts, but not, it seems, to the study of the Dark Arts."

All at once, Harry found himself surrounded by dark-robed students who shook his hand and welcomed him. He could not keep track of all the names and faces, but some were familiar to him: Abraxas Malfoy, flaxen-haired and grey-eyed like Draco. The square-jawed and muscular Tiberius McLaggen. The haughty raven-haired Druella Rosier, so like her yet unborn daughter Bellatrix that Harry flinched.

A girl with brilliant sapphire eyes introduced herself as Araminta Meliflua. Harry thought for a moment that she looked rather sweet for a Slytherin; then he recalled with a shock why her name was so familiar to him: Sirius had once mentioned her campaign to make Muggle hunting legal.

There were several Blacks among the Slytherins. The quiet Alphard Black was in Harry's year, while Alphard's brother Cygnus and their cousin Orion were a year younger. Alphard Black. You must be Sirius' favorite uncle... Years from now, your name will be blasted off the family tree. How odd to think that some of the students I am meeting are already dead. They are only alive inside this memory. Harry took an immediate liking to Orion, Sirius' father, whose wild black curls and mischievous eyes were reminiscent of his unborn son. Cygnus, one of the knuckle-bone players, was the most handsome of the three Blacks, but there was something hard in his eyes that Harry did not care for. I can see your future daughters Bellatrix and Narcissa in your beautiful and cruel features, but how on earth will you and Druella produce the sweet Andromeda?

A pale girl was sitting by herself in the corner. She did not get up to greet him as the others did, but her dark, inscrutable eyes lingered on Harry's face. She seemed strangely familiar, but it took a moment before Harry realized who she was: Eileen Prince. Snape's future mother. Years from now, she will give birth to a murderer...

"Another Black?" Cygnus' dark eyes swept over Harry. "How exactly are you related to the rest of us, Elias? And why aren't you named after a constellation, like the other Blacks?"

I don't know the answers to your questions any more than you do, long-dead Cygnus Black. I don't know who named me. I don't even know whose memory this is, or how I came to be in it.

Harry merely shrugged. "My parents are long gone," he said finally. "Never had the chance to ask them about my name. But it is not true that all Blacks are named after constellations. Phineas Nigellus Black, for one, was not."

A quiet murmur ran through the room. Cygnus nodded briefly, and the shadow of a smile danced across his face for a moment. "True, Elias," he said quietly. "Phineas Nigellus Black was a great wizard indeed, a true Black, and a man of many secrets. Perhaps your deceased father was one of them. We have been told not to ask too many questions. Very well, I will not ask. It's enough for me that you are a Black, and a Slytherin."

"Of course you are a Slytherin." It was Abraxas Malfoy who spoke. The resemblance to his unborn grandson Draco was striking, but Abraxas wore his white-gold hair longer, like a halo of light around his face, and his features were softer than Draco's. "Your eyes are as green as those of the serpent on the door."

Tom Riddle laughed. "Well spotted, Mr. Malfoy. I had wondered why he seemed so curiously familiar to me..."

Harry glanced up at the young man by his side. The future Dark Lord's face was pale in the flickering green light. How beautiful he is, just like the viridian poison in those bottles on the shelf.

But Tom Riddle's laughter felt like a stab to Harry's heart. A sudden white flame of hatred surged through his body. I have my mother's eyes, Tom Riddle, and if I seem familiar to you, it is because you will one day look into her eyes as you murder her. I wonder if memories can die? If they can, I will make sure you won't live to set eyes upon her in the future... Harry turned away from Riddle, but every nerve in his body was aware of his presence. Harry sensed, with an odd sense of satisfaction, the sudden shock that ran through Riddle's mind. He can feel it now. He can sense how I feel about him at this moment. But he is confused; he does not understand why I hate him so much.

"Let me show you the dormitory, Elias." Harry was too preoccupied with the future Voldemort to object to being touched by a Malfoy. Abraxas had grasped his arm and began to steer him through a black marble arch to the dormitory. Harry glanced back over his shoulder. Several students smiled at him, and Araminta gave him a cheerful little wave. But Tom Riddle stood frozen by the door, his face white as snow. His silvery glance met Harry's for an instant, and an image of Tom Riddle as a small boy in a dreary orphanage flashed into Harry's mind uninvited. Lonely. He feels lonely.

"Good night, Elias." Tom Riddle's voice was odd and distant.

"Good night, Professor Riddle." Harry's own voice sounded strange too, as if it belonged to someone else.

The Slytherin boys' dormitory was much as Harry had imagined it: Enormous black four poster beds with silver sheets were lined up in neat rows, and the wallpaper was dark green with silver serpents. Too many serpents.

There were no windows, no sunlight, just flickering green lamps and ornate silver mirrors along the wall. Harry caught a glimpse of his own pale face in one of the silver ovals. It was a relief to see his familiar scar; for a moment he had half expected to see the face of the unknown Elias.

A large trunk was waiting for him by his bed. Where had it come from? Were the things in it his, or did they belong to Elias Black, whoever he may be? The son of Phineas Nigellus Black's secret love child, by the sounds of it... I wonder who my mysterious "guardian" is, who wrote to the headmaster on my behalf? Did he send my trunk here, too? Is this his memory? Was he the one who bewitched this recollection to become so strangely real?

To his relief, Harry found a decent-looking broomstick under the robes in his trunk. A vintage Silver Arrow? Apparently, his nameless guardian had a fine taste in broomsticks.

"You play Quidditch?" Abraxas Malfoy's grey eyes lit up. "Are you any good?"

Harry smiled. "Not bad. But I expect all the spots on the Slytherin team are taken."

"They were. But then that idiot MacFarlan went and got himself expelled."

"Expelled?" Not Hamish MacFarlan, the future captain of the Montrose Magpies? "Er.. What for?"

Abraxas flung himself down on his bed with a deep sigh. "Oh, just a silly prank. He petrified Professor Kettleburn, just for a lark, so we would miss one of those tedious Care of Magical Creatures classes. MacFarlan's idea was to leave him petrified in the forest just until class was over and then come back and revive him. How was he supposed to know that Kettleburn had just brought out a dragon to show us?"

"A dragon?" This definitely didn't sound good. "What happened?"

"Oh, the dragon got loose and found Professor Kettleburn lying around in the forest and chomped his arm off. Rough on old Kettleburn, of course, but it was an accident. The headmaster threw a fit, though, and expelled the best seeker we've had in years."

"Oh... Seeker, did you say?" Harry's heart fluttered a little.

"Seriously?" Abraxas raised his golden head hopefully. "You play seeker? I'm the captain of the accursed Slytherin team, but I haven't been able to find a decent seeker to replace MacFarlan for the life of me. I had almost resigned myself to Alphard, but he's really bad. Sometimes I think he actually wants Gryffindor to win. Cygnus and Orion are good, of course, but I need them as beaters. I even toyed with the idea of trying Araminta. She's not very experienced, but at least she doesn't fall off her broom like Alphard. And she might be able to distract Lupin with those eyes of hers."

"Lupin?" Harry felt something warm inside at the sound of the familiar name. Remus' father, perhaps?

"John Lupin. The Gryffindor seeker. He's really good, damn him! But he's got a weak spot for Araminta's sapphire eyes, anyone can see that. It's not like he can ask her out, of course; he knows the Slytherins would kill him if he tried. So he just lurks around in the shadows, glancing at her in secret, like he wants to eat her up..." Abraxas grimaced. "Lupin and the Belle of Slytherin... What an appalling thought."

Harry couldn't help but agree. Remus is a half-blood, isn't he? Whoever Remus' mother was, she was definitely not Araminta. He tried to recall who Draco's grandmother was, but he couldn't remember. Could she have been Araminta? "Are you... er... interested in Araminta yourself?" he asked delicately.

"What?" Abraxas Malfoy looked slightly taken aback for a moment. Then he grinned. "Oh, no. I'm... I'm not much of a ladies' man. Completely immune to the magic of Araminta's admittedly lovely eyes. Sapphire is not really my color anyway. Emerald is the Slytherin color, you know..." His voice trailed off, and he got abruptly up from his bed. There was a slight flush on his cheeks now. "Let's play some Quidditch in the morning, so I can see if you are any good."

Harry agreed willingly. All in all, he reflected as he finished unpacking his trunk, Abraxas Malfoy is an improvement over his unborn descendants. Too bad that he will be the one to die of dragon pox... If only it had been Draco. Or Lucius...

...

Harry managed to sneak out to the grounds for a few minutes by himself before dinner. Dusk was beginning to fall over the familiar landscape, and the shadows had deepened to a dark blue. He inhaled the crisp autumn air and tried to rid his mind of the mesmerizing green-hued atmosphere of the Slytherin dungeon.

Harry Potter, now sorted into Slytherin. Harry Potter, the Dark Lord's new student... Whose memory is this? And how can someone remember these strange things that never were? I seem to be able to move about in this memory at will; I can speak to others and influence them. Am I changing the past by doing so? Am I changing someone's memory of what happened?

Perhaps I am trapped inside the memories of a madman? Perhaps this is the twisted recollection of someone who spent his days on the closed ward at St. Mungo's, unable to tell reality from his own bizarre delusions?

When will this memory come to an end? Will I ever find my way out, or am I trapped in this time forever? Am I here for a reason?

The image of Tom Riddle's pale face rose in his recollection. Voldemort. Perhaps I am here to kill Voldemort. Perhaps someone has devised a way for me to go back in time and stop him before it is too late...

He searched in his pocket. His fingers closed around his own familiar holly wand from the future. Will a magic wand from the real world be able to affect this memory?

He pulled out the wand and flicked it hopefully: "Expecto patronum!"

A brilliant silver form sprang from his wand, and Harry watched in relief as the shimmering stag ran over the darkening Hogwarts grounds. If my wand can do that inside this memory, I should be able to do other magic as well.

His glance fell on a small spider on the grass. It sat there, immovable, barely visible in the gathering twilight. Harry pointed his wand at it.

"Ava..." His hand began to tremble. Oh, come on! I can do this! It's only a spider. It's barely sentient. If I can't kill a spider, how will I ever destroy Voldemort?

He took a deep breath and tried again: "Avada kedavra..." The words sounded strange in his mouth.

The spider remained motionless for a moment, then scuttled off into the bushes at a vigorous speed.

"It would be easier just to step on it, you know," said a voice behind him.

Harry spun around and found himself face to face with a smiling Albus Dumbledore. Dumbledore was a great deal younger now than Harry was used to seeing him. His hair and beard were still auburn rather than white, but his blue eyes twinkled merrily behind the half-moon spectacles as they had always done.

"It's good to see you, Professor!" Harry smiled at the man whose funeral he had attended a few short days ago.

"It's good to see you too, Elias," said the future headmaster pleasantly. "I hope you are settling in well here at Hogwarts. Er... I take it you don't care for spiders?"

"I'm not Elias," said Harry without thinking. "I'm Harry. Harry Potter."

Dumbledore blinked. "I see. Harry Potter? The headmaster said that your name is Elias. How very odd." He shook his head slowly. "You know, there is something strangely familiar about you."

Harry looked into the kind, familiar face, and the words came tumbling out: "Of course there is, headmaster. We know each other well, you and I, in the future. You will become headmaster of Hogwarts, and I will be your student, years from now. My parents will be killed by Tom Riddle, who will become a terrifying dark wizard and call himself Voldemort. He was the one who gave me this scar, when his killing curse failed to destroy me. He and his followers will instigate a reign of terror, and many lives will be lost. You yourself will be murdered by Severus Snape, Eileen Prince's son, after Abraxas Malfoy's grandson fails to do it. But there is a prophecy about Tom Riddle and me that says that one of us will kill the other in the end. I must stop him, but I don't know how. He will commit several murders, and after each, he will create a horcrux where he will conceal a part of his splintered soul. He can only be killed once all the horcruxes are destroyed, but I don't know where they are. I went to your office after your death, and I found a memory of the past, a memory of this time, and now I seem to be trapped inside it. I don't understand how I came to be here, but I thought that perhaps you had something to do with it."

Albus Dumbledore stood completely still for what appeared to be an eternity. Then he said softly: "What an extraordinary story, Harry. It would be quite convenient for me at this moment to assume that you are insane, but you said some things that ring true. I fear for Tom Riddle. I think... Yes, I think he has the capacity to become what you say he will be." He closed his eyes. "Tell me something, Harry, something small and insignificant that you have come to learn about me in the future, something that can help me decide whether this can be true."

Harry thought for a moment. "You like raspberry jam, and you believe that love is the strongest magic of all. You believe that it is our choices that make us what we are, and you like Muggle knitting patterns. You will turn down the position of Minister of Magic and teach at Hogwarts till you die. You told me that the magical Mirror of Erised, which shows our heart's deepest desire, showed you a pair of warm socks, but you lied. And you once said that music is a magic beyond anything we do at Hogwarts."

Dumbledore laughed. "Yes, that does sound like me, my boy. You leave me no choice but to believe your strange tale, Harry. I wonder about the name "Elias"... As a boy, I immersed myself in the fantastic tales of Elias Lönnrot. Now, that was magic! I promised myself that if I ever had a son, I would name him "Elias"..."

"But you never did have a son..." said Harry softly.

"No, I never did. I'm not... a marrying man, you see. But perhaps I was somehow the one who named you, my young friend from the future... I have no recollection of doing so, though."

"Perhaps your future self manipulated this memory of the past somehow?"

"Perhaps... That sounds like something I would do, doesn't it?" Dumbledore stood silent for a moment. "It's getting late, Harry. It's time to go to dinner. We have a great deal, I think, to discover, you and I. I probably shouldn't ask you too much about the future... Just tell me one thing: Will Puddlemere United ever beat the Chudley Cannons?"

Harry had to laugh. "Often and thoroughly."

Dumbledore beamed. "Ah, then I believe there is still hope for the future of the world."


	3. Chapter 3

"Over here, Elias!"

Harry slipped into the open seat next to Cygnus Black at the Slytherin table. Cygnus was wearing a gleaming prefect badge pinned to his school robes now. A prefect? Playing by the rules for now, are you Cygnus? Cygnus noticed Harry's glance and smiled.

"Yes, I'm a prefect, Elias, and so is Druella. Gives us the right to dock points from the Gryffindors. Just let us know if any of them annoy you, will you? Or you can tell Abraxas or Araminta - they are the seventh year prefects for Slytherin."

Not bad, Malfoy - Quidditch captain and prefect! Harry gazed at the blond Slytherin for a moment. Somehow, it felt wrong to think of him as "Malfoy"; that appellation belonged, in Harry's mind, to a far more unpleasant specimen of the Malfoy clan. Abraxas. This one is just Abraxas.

"Are Abraxas and Araminta Head Boy and Head Girl, then?"

Cygnus' dark eyes glittered. "You would think so, wouldn't you? But I'm afraid not, Elias. The senile old Professor Dippet has a bizarre prejudice against Slytherins. Tom Riddle was Head Boy when he was a student, that goes without saying, but otherwise, Dippet always manages to find someone from another house to be Head Boy or Head Girl. Obviously, Abraxas would have made a great Head Boy, and the younger students are so smitten with Araminta's beauty, they'd obey her if she asked them to use the Cruciatus curse on themselves."

Harry glanced at Araminta and shuddered when her sapphire gaze met his. Sounds like the sort of thing she would have the younger students do, too.

"The idiot headmaster picked the appalling Enid Spore from Gryffindor to be Head Girl." Cygnus indicated a plain, but pleasant-looking girl at the Gryffindor table. "Algie Longbottom's girlfriend." He grimaced.

"Algie's the round-faced one," added Orion helpfully. "Really into toads, for some reason. He just can't stop talking about them."

Harry grinned. This must be the barmy uncle Neville talked about, the one who gave him Trevor.

"And the Head Boy is the insufferable Oswald Fudge from Ravenclaw. The obsequious little tadpole flattered and fawned over the headmaster until the old moron made him Head Boy. " Cygnus pointed out a rather pompous boy with straw-colored hair who was pontificating at the Ravenclaw table. The other Ravenclaws appeared to ignore him, for the most part, but the slender dark-haired boy next to him regarded him with a rapt expression. Wait.. Isn't that-? Harry smiled when he recognized the vampire Sanguini, who was gazing dreamily at Fudge's neck. And there's Sanguini's friend Worple, too, the worried-looking one with the glasses.

How odd it felt to sit at the Slytherin table during dinner! So this is what it looks like, the view from Slytherin... Harry was not used to seeing the Great Hall from this angle; it made everything seem strangely warped, as if reality itself had become slightly distorted. Harry secretly scanned the faces at the Gryffindor table, longing for a glimpse of someone familiar. Perhaps the red hair of a Weasley? Or a young McGonagall?

No.

He felt disappointed. It would have been nice to have some pleasant company while I'm trapped inside this delusion. I could have used a Weasley. Well, there was always Algie Longbottom. And surely the tall, grave boy next to him must be John Lupin, the seeker? His hair was darker than his future son's, but his face was quite similar. I hope I can get to know him. Somehow, I have to warn him against Fenrir Greyback. One day, you will insult a werewolf, John Lupin, and he will never forget it. One day, when you least expect it, he will come after your child.

A few other faces at the distant Gryffindor table were beginning to seem familiar as well as Harry continued to scrutinize them. Wasn't that a very young "Dangerous" Dai Llewellyn? No wonder the Slytherin Quidditch team was in trouble this season! Harry's heart began to race a little at the prospect of playing Quidditch against the famous beater.

And who was that girl seated across from Llewellyn, with the freckled face and the wild brown curls? She was doing a lot of the talking at the Gryffindor table, and the others were laughing helplessly at whatever she was saying. Something about the round, mischievous face was very familiar, but Harry couldn't for the life of him think who she was.

Harry's glance wandered to the staff table. Riddle. It was impossible not to look at Riddle. How unreal this is! Voldemort is sitting at the staff table at Hogwarts, dining in the Great Hall...

Suddenly, Tom Riddle looked up, and his quicksilver gaze met Harry's. All at once, Harry had an odd sense of a great storm rushing towards him, a black and silver wind that whispered of beauty and danger and darkness.

How is it possible that no one else can feel what he is? How can they all sit here in the Great Hall and talk as if everything is normal when He Who Must Not Be Named is here among us? Only Dumbledore appears to have an inkling of the darkness that is coming.

He is staring at me. Riddle is staring at me. Do you remember me, my Dark Lord? I am the Chosen One. One day, one of us will murder the other. Can you feel it, too, the curious connection between us, the dark and ancient bond that ties our destinies together? You are turning your glance away... Do I frighten you, Lord Voldemort?

Slughorn. That's Horace Slughorn sitting next to you, in his plum-colored velvet robes, looking at you as if you were his most prized possession. What an old fool he is, completely taken in by your charm. He is talking to you now, while sipping his blood-red wine... What conversation does he have with the Dark Lord over dinner, I wonder? Is he talking of weather or horcruxes?

Harry turned to Cygnus. "Professor Riddle is very young, isn't he?" he said softly. "The headmaster told me that this is his first year teaching."

"Young? I suppose so." Cygnus shrugged. "But he is a greater wizard than all the rest of them put together. He tells us things that the rest of the teachers have never even heard about. Just wait till you see him teach. It's... mesmerizing."

"You admire him, then?"

For an instant, Cygnus' face flushed. "Admire him? Yes, of course, we all do. Except for a few of the pig-headed Gryffindors, but there's no accounting for their tastes. I think there's quite a few of us who would do anything for Professor Riddle, anything at all..."

I know you will. Including murder and torture, no doubt... Harry stared down at his dinner. He was beginning to lose his appetite.

"What about the other professors?" he asked, changing topics abruptly. "Who are they?"

"Oh, the other professors..." Cygnus' glance swept contemptuously over the teachers' table. "Naive old fools, most of them. The one with the long auburn hair is Dumbledore, the transfiguration teacher."

Harry smiled. "Yes, I know him. I met him out on the grounds earlier."

"He seems like such an oddball, Dumbledore," said Orion thoughtfully, "but he's actually a powerful wizard. He defeated the Dark Wizard Grindelwald a few months ago, which put an end to the war in Europe. You must have read about it in the papers, Elias."

"Er... yes. I read about their great duel." On a chocolate frog card.

Cygnus snorted. "A powerful wizard? I'm not so sure. There are strange rumors flying around. Perhaps that fabled duel was not quite what it seemed... For if Dumbledore and Grindelwald were indeed mortal enemies, as we are asked to believe, where do these whispers come from about Dumbledore visiting Grindelwald in Azkaban? He is said to come quite often, and to stay with the prisoner for hours. Some people say that they were once lovers..."

Harry stared at him, aghast. "But that's absurd!" he whispered. "Dumbledore and Grindelwald? Just wicked rumors, spread by petty and envious people, surely?"

"Speaking of rumors, Elias-" broke in Abraxas Malfoy cheerfully. "Rumor has it Dumbledore caught you practicing the killing curse on a spider this afternoon."

Harry flushed. "Well... Er. Yes. He did." How does he know that? Dumbledore must have told someone while I was off washing up before dinner... Oh, well. Makes me seem more like a true Slytherin, I suppose.

"Really?" Was that admiration in Cygnus' languid dark glance? "Practicing unforgivable curses, are you, Elias? You had better not let a teacher catch you next time."

"Oh, I won't." Harry looked at the other teachers at the high table. Don't worry, Cygnus. Apparently, these professors can't recognize the Dark when they see it... There was tiny Filius Flitwick, much younger now, chatting amiably with the handsome young Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. And there was Professor Binns, smiling and nodding as Tom Riddle spoke. Harry wondered for a moment why Professor Binns seemed so different. Then it hit him: Of course, he is still alive! Professor Binns had not yet become a ghost; his bland features were more solid now, and his timid form more substantial, more real... Harry sincerely hoped that this would make Professor Binns' classes more lively as well, but something told him this was rather unlikely.

And there's the one-armed wild-eyed Kettleburn... He looks a little nervous... "Who's the funny little one with the whiskers?" Harry asked, eyeing the unfamiliar professor next to Kettleburn.

"Professor Beery? He's the herbology teacher. Better watch out for him, Elias." There was a twinkle in Abraxas' eyes.

"Why? Is he that horrible?" Please tell me there is no Snape in this memory to make my life miserable.

Abraxas chuckled. "Horrible? No, he's a pleasant enough old dodger. But you'd better not let him see your emerald eyes or that interesting scar."

There was laughter around the table. Harry felt confused; he was clearly missing something.

Araminta leaned forward, her magnificent blue eyes shining. "You know, Abraxas, that's not a bad idea... Elias would be just perfect for the part. Better him than Lupin."

"What part?"

Orion grinned at him. "The part of the noble knight in Beery's dreaded Christmas pantomime, The Fountain of Fair Fortune. Professor Beery is a man obsessed, Elias, as you will find out soon enough. "

Something began to stir in Harry's memory. Hadn't he heard something once about a Christmas pantomime at Hogwarts, long ago? A pantomime that had been such a spectacular disaster that no play had ever been performed at Hogwarts again?

Druella Rosier's slightly husky voice sounded from further down the table. "You are right. He would make a perfect knight." And Eileen Price chimed in softly: "Yes, I think he would..."

...

Harry lay awake in bed, listening to the quiet breathing of the boys around him. Only Abraxas was still awake in the next bed, his white-gold hair gleaming against his pillow in the soft green light from the single lamp that flickered in the corner.

"Having a hard time sleeping, Elias?" he whispered.

"Mmm."

"I know how you feel. It's always strange, your first night in a new place, isn't it?"

Stranger than you could imagine, Abraxas.

Abraxas yawned. "But you will like it here, Elias, I'm sure you will. Tomorrow, we will play Quidditch." After a little while he added sleepily: "And if you are cast as the knight in the Christmas pantomime, you get to kiss Araminta."

Harry winced. "Thanks for the warning. I don't want to kiss Araminta. Not that she isn't beautiful, of course..."

"Of course." Even in the darkened room, Harry could see Abraxas Malfoy smiling.

"Listen, Elias," he whispered softly. "I was once told that you should count the windows and doors in your bedroom before you go to sleep in a new place. If you do, you will be certain to dream of your true love."

Harry glanced around the windowless room and laughed. "Okay," he muttered sleepily. "Door. That makes one. Good night, Abraxas."

"Good night."

As he was drifting off to sleep and his consciousness began to turn to dreams, Harry found himself half wondering if he would dream of Ginny. Ginny seemed so terribly far away all of a sudden. But that night he did not dream of anyone at all; he just dreamed of darkness and silver wind.

...

Morning. Harry could feel it before he opened his eyes. This is the early morning of a new day - but which day is it? The day that follows the one I left behind, or the dawn of a different day, years ago? Will I open my eyes to see the vivid scarlet and gold of the Gryffindor dormitory, or the emerald and silver of Slytherin? Which one do I want it to be? My own time, where I belong, with Dumbledore dead and the future of the world depending on me, or the strange dreamtime of someone's memory where Dumbledore still laughs and the Dark Lord walks among us as an ordinary man? I wonder if I can choose, as I did with the Sorting Hat?

He opened his eyes, slowly.

"Ready to play Quidditch?" Abraxas Malfoy was already up and dressed, although the pale golden curls than danced about his shoulders were still wild and mussed from sleep.

Harry smiled. "I'm ready. Just let me get dressed..." He reached for his clothes and waited for Abraxas to turn his glance away.

"Oh. Right." Abraxas turned his back, and Harry dressed quickly.

"You look like Riddle when you sleep," whispered Abraxas as they headed up the stairs together, their broomsticks over their shoulders.

"Like Riddle?" Harry felt a strange jolt in his stomach.

"He slept in that bed last year, when he was still a student, the bed that you are in now."

"Oh." Harry wasn't sure how he felt about that. "It must be strange," he said softly as they stepped into the golden haze of dawn together, "for you to call him "Professor Riddle" all of a sudden, when he was a schoolboy like you only last year..."

"Oh, I don't know..." Abraxas Malfoy shook his head. "Somehow, I think it was stranger when we had to pretend that he was one of us. He never was, you know. We all adored him, feared him a little even... But he was never just an ordinary schoolboy, like us. He was something greater, from the very beginning."

"That must have made him feel lonely..." Harry didn't know what made him say that.

Abraxas frowned a little. "Perhaps it did. I never thought of that. Oh, damn, that's Lupin, up practicing already with that crazed Llewellyn boy..." He sighed as Lupin dove through the morning air on his broom and caught the fluttering snitch in his hand. "Please tell me you are as good as that."

Harry grinned.

...

An hour later, John Lupin shook Harry's hand. A shadow of a smile flitted over his serious face for a moment. "Well played, Black," he said in a voice that was almost that of Remus. "Well played indeed! It seems that this will be an exciting Quidditch season after all. Where the hell did you learn to play like that-?"

"Oh..." Harry smiled. "Elsewhere... I look forward to facing you in a match, Lupin. You are an excellent player."

"Are you sure you are a Slytherin?" John Lupin's earnest brown eyes studied Harry's face intently for a moment.

"Enough chit-chat." Abraxas put his arm around Harry's shoulder and pulled him firmly in the direction of the school. "You bet he's a Slytherin, Lupin. And at the end of the year, the Quidditch cup will be in the Slytherin common room, where we will all drink blood-mixed wine from it to celebrate our victory. Including the fair Araminta."

Lupin turned away from them, wordlessly.

As he walked back to the school with Abraxas in the golden light of what promised to be a glorious autumn day, Harry gazed up at the ancient castle he knew so well. At least Hogwarts itself is always the same... The thought felt soothing.

Then he noticed a shadow against one of the upstairs windows, a dark silhouette against the brilliant morning light. Someone is watching us...

Something stirred in his heart, something dark and silver... Harry did not look up again; he already knew who it was.


	4. Chapter 4

"Imperio!" Tom Riddle pointed his wand at Harry's chest. A hush fell over the room.

Harry drew his breath sharply and stared, mesmerized, at the yew wand. The Imperius curse? I can resist it; I have fought it off before.

But what is this curious whisper in my heart? I can feel your magic coursing through my body. You have cursed me before, my Dark Lord, but it didn't feel like this. You want me to come closer. Closer... Something in me aches to do as you say. Something is stirring in my soul, some unbearable longing. I want to step closer. Resisting feels like dying... No! The wand you are pointing at me will kill my mother. It will kill my father. It will kill Cedric. No, my Dark Lord! I will not obey you. I will resist your curse even if it kills me.

He could see Riddle's quicksilver eyes widen now, as if in surprise. Was there a slight tremor in the hand that held the yew wand?

Harry could sense a quiet murmur running through the classroom, and a slight whisper from Abraxas: "Merlin, why isn't he moving-? How can he stand still like that?"

Harry could feel Riddle's magic tugging at him more strongly now, tearing at his heart. Come closer. Their eyes met, and Harry felt as if something sweet and dark was shredding his very being apart. But he stood immovable, holding Riddle's glance with his own until the grey eyes looked away. After a moment's hesitation, Tom Riddle lowered his wand.

How human he looks, with his tousled curls and his silver eyes and the slight flush on his cheeks... It would be easy to forget that he will one day be Voldemort.

Harry walked slowly back to his desk and sat down. He stared down at his books, trying to ignore the sudden whispers around him.

"You resisted the Imperius curse?" Cygnus' voice seemed to come from far away. "How is that possible?"

"That's what I would like to know, Mr. Black." Tom Riddle was close now, much too close. "This was meant to be a demonstration of the terrible power of this forbidden curse; it is so dangerous because it is impossible to resist. At this moment, a great many wizards and witches are on trial in various parts of Europe, accused of assisting the dark Grindelwald in murdering the innocent. But the accused all say that they are without guilt. They claim that they were bewitched; they were under the Imperius curse, which had robbed them of their free will. And I have no doubt that most of them will go free; for who can resist the irresistible Imperius curse? As you saw a few moments ago, I could make your classmates jump, dance, or sing with a flick of my wand, and they were powerless to resist me. So why didn't you move when I told you to, Elias Black?"

Harry glanced up. "Because I didn't want to, sir. I don't like obeying orders."

He saw the flicker of surprise in Tom Riddle's eyes and wondered if he was going to be angry. But the young teacher smiled. For a moment, he almost looked like a boy. "Spoken like a true Slytherin, Elias Black. I must admit that I am curious about you. Your mysterious guardian has taught you well. What other magic can you do?"

Harry merely shrugged. I can survive the killing curse, my Dark Lord, as you will one day find out.

Riddle's glance lingered on him for a moment. "You have a great deal of potential, Mr. Black. I would like to give you some private lessons. We can begin this evening. Please come to my office at eight o'clock."

Harry considered for a moment. Private lessons with Voldemort? What a strange thought. But his lessons might prove more useful to me than Dumbledore's. I seem to have some trouble with the killing curse, Professor. Perhaps you can help me...

"I would like that, sir. Thank you."

...

"Elias?" Abraxas caught up with him in the hallway. "That was... amazing. How did you do that? When you just stood there, Riddle grew so pale I thought he was going to faint." He grinned mischievously. "He's not used to people being able to resist him, you know. Hell, I don't even think he has to use the Imperius curse on some of the students; they'd jump and dance anyway if they thought it would please him."

Harry glanced at the blond Slytherin boy. "Would you?"

Abraxas flushed. "Me? Oh, I don't know. I used to be as enchanted with him as everyone else, but now I'm not sure anymore..." He broke off suddenly. Then his wicked grin was back. "Now, here comes the real test for you, Elias. You can resist the Imperius curse and all, but can you resist the fair Araminta? It's time for herbology, my friend, and for Professor Beery's dream of a perfect Christmas pantomime."

Harry groaned.

...

"Merlin's beard!" whispered Professor Beery. "Your scar! You have a handsome face, my boy, but your scar adds a sense of tragedy as well, of great suffering. This is the face of the noble knight, Sir Luckless, there can be no doubt about that! Oh, that final scene when they kiss will be marvelous!"

Harry wished desperately that Abraxas would stop laughing, and even more that Araminta would stop smiling.

"I'm not a good actor, sir. In fact, I'm absolutely terrible, downright awful."

"Nonsense, my boy! Enough of this false modesty!" The little professor beamed. "It's all settled then. The lovely Miss Araminta Meliflua will play the part of Amata, the unfortunate lady who has been deserted by her faithless lover, played by Abraxas Malfoy. Oh, excellent, Mr. Malfoy! That's precisely the look of heartless fickleness I was hoping for!"

Abraxas Malfoy grinned and tossed a rogue white-gold curl out of his eyes, looking very faithless indeed. You are enjoying this, aren't you Abraxas?

"And the charming Miss Rosier will play the downcast Altheda, burdened by her poverty. Ah, you air of affliction needs some more work, my dear. Never mind, it will come to you."

Harry looked doubtfully at Druella's imperious features. She looks about as downtrodden as the Queen of England.

"And Miss Moon will be the suffering Asha, ill from an ailment that no one can cure."

The curly-haired girl Harry had seen at the Gryffindor table nodded her head enthusiastically. "I've experimented with some vomiting charms, Professor. If you want to, I can make myself really sick on stage."

Professor Beery blinked. "Er... No, thank you, Miss Moon. That will not be necessary."

Eileen Prince, who was standing next to Harry, whispered: "She's not kidding, you know. Augusta is always making up the most disgusting charms to make herself ill so she can get out of class. I heard her offer to teach some of the third years for a fee. She actually failed her charms N.E.W.T.S. - I suppose she only excels at the truly repulsive ones."

Harry laughed. Fred and George would have adored you, Augusta Moon. But in their time you will probably be a dignified old lady already.

All of a sudden, something stirred in his mind. Augusta? No, it can't be... But another glance at her face confirmed that it was indeed true: This was Neville's future grandmother, the formidable Mrs. Augusta Longbottom. Harry shook his head in confusion.

"Now, those are the main parts," chirped Professor Beery, "but do not despair if you were not cast in one of the starring roles - there will be plenty of other parts as well. We need understudies, of course, in case one of the students playing the main parts were to fall ill. Miss Prince will understudy for Miss Meliflua, Mr. Lupin for Mr. Black, Mr. Sanguini for Mr. Malfoy, Miss Spore for Miss Rosier, and Miss Zeller for Miss Moon. Also, there will be a chorus, of course, and jugglers, and woodland animals. We might even bring in some house elves for some of the country dances. Professor Dumbledore has kindly agreed to Transfigure us a grassy hill with a bubbling fountain, Professor Kettleburn will provide the Giant Worm..."

Harry sighed. I already know that this pantomime will be a disaster. It's the precise nature of that disaster I'm worried about. If I'm lucky, it will just be the Giant Worm.

"And..." continued Professor Beery triumphantly, "I have the pleasure of announcing that there will also be an assistant drama coach who will be working with the actors who play the main roles. Professor Riddle has kindly agreed to help ensure the success of this pantomime." He chuckled. "It will be very helpful for someone of my age to have the assistance of a younger man when it comes to directing the romantic scene at the end. I am afraid I have long forgotten what little knowledge I once had in the area of romance."

A few people laughed. Harry stared at him in horror. Tom Riddle. Tom Riddle will teach me how to kiss Araminta. He sincerely hoped that Professor Kettleburn would hurry up with the Giant Worm. He was fairly certain that he would need it to swallow him up very soon.

...

After herbology, Harry was momentarily cornered in the hallway by an enraptured Professor Slughorn who was insistent that Harry come to his next soiree "for a few select students and faculty members".

"Tom Riddle speaks highly of you, Mr. Black," whispered Slughorn, with an air of suppressed excitement, "and I can think of no higher recommendation than that. Professor Riddle will be there tomorrow evening, of course - he is a very, very dear friend of mine. And I dare say you will see a few other familiar faces as well, my boy. I hear you are friendly with young Mr. Malfoy, who is also invited. Charming young man, from a very good family."

And yet, thought Harry, smiling to himself, one day in the future, Abraxas' grandson will try to win your favor by using his grandfather's name. And you will merely stare at him coldly. I wonder what Abraxas will do to disappoint you? I can't wait to find out.

Harry extracted himself from Slughorn as politely as he could and hurried to his next class; he was already a few minutes late.

"I am so sorry, Professor Dumbledore," he muttered, "but I encountered Professor Slughorn in the hallway, and he wished to talk to me..."

"Ah." Dumbledore's blue eyes twinkled. "That is only to be expected, I am afraid."

Transfiguration with Dumbledore was rather amusing; the students spent the afternoon transfiguring each other into common household objects. Harry succeeded in transfiguring Araminta into a golden cup with two sapphires on it, and he decided he liked her a great deal better that way. After a few failed attempts - one of them resulting in yellow canary - Abraxas was finally able to transfigure Harry into a golden snitch, and Harry fluttered happily around the classroom for a few minutes until the charm wore off. I wonder if there is a way to make the transfiguration permanent? I don't think I would mind being a snitch. Life would be less complicated that way.

...

After dinner, Harry found his way to Tom Riddle's office for his private lesson. His knocked hesitantly at the door.

"Enter," replied the familiar voice from within.

Tom Riddle's office was unexpectedly pleasant. Harry realized as he entered the large, book-lined study that he had half expected something cavernous and eerie. But Tom Riddle's office was warm and welcoming; a fire crackled merrily in the fireplace, and the bookshelves were filled with ancient leather-bound volumed that appeared to be about defensive magic, rather than horcruxes and necromancy.

Tom Riddle was sitting behind a large mahogany desk, grading student essays. His dark robes were flung carelessly over a nearby chair, and he was dressed, to Harry's surprise, Muggle style, in dark slacks, a white shirt, and a tie that was loosened at the neck.

He got up and greeted Harry with a smile, and Harry found himself smiling back.

"Let's sit over here by the fire, Elias. These chairs are more comfortable." Tom indicated two deep armchairs by the fireplace. "Would you like some wine?"

"Wine-?"

"Don't look so shocked, Elias! You are of age, aren't you?"

Harry pondered this for a moment. Yesterday, in my own time, I was sixteen. But today, I am a seventh year student, so I suppose I must be seventeen?

"Er... Yes."

He accepted the goblet Tom Riddle offered him and sat down at the edge of one of the chairs.

"Tell me about yourself, Elias."

Harry could feel his cheeks growing hot. He took a sip of wine and stared into the fire. "I don't think there is much to tell. I'm an orphan. I like to play Quidditch. I'm happy to be here at Hogwarts, and I want to learn as much about the Dark Arts as you can possibly teach me."

"Who is the young woman with red hair? She is significant to you, isn't she?"

Harry looked up in shock. Ginny? How does he know about Ginny? She won't be born for many years yet. Is it possible that Tom Riddle can see into the future? If he can see Ginny in the future, can he see me there as well?

"I'm sorry," said Tom Riddle softly. "That was thoughtless of me. I didn't mean to startle you. It's just that I thought I sensed an image in your mind when you were resisting my Imperius curse. Oh, don't worry - I don't usually read people's minds. I can sometimes sense some of their emotions, that's true, but not more than that. But when I tried to cast the Imperius curse on you, an image flashed into my mind, and I thought perhaps it came from you. She was a rather lovely young woman, with hair like a flame, and kind eyes."

"Oh." Harry almost managed a smile. "My... My mother."

"Your mother?" Tom Riddle looked thoughtfully at him. "But you are an orphan?"

"Yes." Harry studied the carpet; he really didn't want to meet Riddle's glance. "My mother is dead. She gave her life to protect me."

A silence followed. Then Tom Riddle whispered: "Did she? She must have loved you a great deal, then."

Harry nodded, eyes still on the carpet.

"My mother is dead as well."

Harry looked up and met Tom's silver glance for a moment. I wonder if he feels any sadness for her...

"And my father. We are both orphans, you and I." Tom spoke lightly now. The flickering firelight cast a warm glow over his pale, handsome features.

"How did you father die?" asked Harry quietly. I already know the answer. You murdered him, Tom, the summer before your sixth year. I wonder if you would ever tell me-?

Tom's face was white now. "My father... was murdered."

"So was mine," said Harry softly. By the same person as yours. You.

They gazed at each other for a moment in silence. Then Tom whispered: "How very strange... I think I can see it, the image in your mind now. I see a man who resembles you, crumpled on the ground, and the red-haired woman and a small child. That must be you... A terrifying dark-clad figure with inhuman features is approaching the child, wand raised. And she... she flings herself in front of the child... Is this your memory?"

Harry turned his face away. "Yes, Professor Riddle. Apparently, you can see into my mind. And..." He paused, as the image of a small dark-haired boy in a cramped, dreary room, crying into his thin blankets, entered his mind. He reached for his wine goblet with a trembling hand and emptied it in one gulp. "And I can apparently see into yours as well."

"How very odd..." He felt Tom Riddle's gaze linger on his face, but he didn't want to look up. "We seem to have some strange connection, you and I. Perhaps... perhaps we are meant to be friends."

"Friends?"

"Not this year, maybe; you are still my student, but next year you will have graduated from Hogwarts."

Harry nodded, not knowing what to say.

"But for now, I will simply teach you what I can, Elias Black. What do you want to learn? Can you conjure a patronus?"

In response, Harry pulled out his wand and whispered: "Expecto Patronum!"

"Beautiful," whispered Tom Riddle, as his glance followed the shimmering silver stag around the room. "That's a very difficult spell, Elias. It's one that I'm having trouble with myself."

"Do you?" Harry studied the still beautiful face of his future enemy. I wonder what his patronus would be? A serpent? "It's not that hard; you simply needs to focus on your happiest memory."

"Perhaps," said Tom Riddle softly, "that's where my problem lies..." He smiled a little. "Are there no spells you are having problems with, then?"

"Yes. One." Harry turned his wand slowly over in his hand. "The killing curse."

Tom's eyes widened. "The killing curse? Who do you wish to kill, Elias? Ah, of course, the inhuman creature who murdered your parents... Is he still at large, then?"

Harry nodded silently.

"Well, I think I can help you with that. Give me a little time to think it over; I should be able to conjure up some sort of shadows for your to practice on, and then later you can move on to something else. Animals, perhaps? But you had better not announce the nature of these lessons to your friends."

Harry felt his heart thundering in his chest. "Don't worry, I won't." How terribly strange this will be. You will teach me how to kill you.

"Let's meet again tomorrow... Oh, that's right; Slughorn is having his little soiree tomorrow evening, isn't he? I'm afraid I promised to come. You will be there too, I hope? We'd better make it Monday, then."

Harry got up and walked towards the door. "What about the weekend, Professor Riddle? I don't mind coming in for a lesson on Saturday."

Tom Riddle laughed. "My dear Elias, you may not have any plans for the weekend, but I do. My fiancee is coming to spend the weekend in Hogsmeade."

"Your what?" Harry stared at Riddle.

"My fiancee, Elias." Tom Riddle looked slightly annoyed now. "Why so surprised? I know that I am still quite young, but I am a Hogwarts professor, and I can assure you that my salary is more than sufficient to support a wife."

"You are planning to marry-?" Harry's voice faltered. Voldemort married? What an absurd thought! Would she one day become "Mrs. Voldemort"? "The Dark Lady"?

Tom Riddle flushed. "Yes, I am, Elias. Why the astonishment?"

Harry shook his head, flustered. "I... I just didn't think you were... the marrying kind, that's all..."

"You didn't think I was the marrying kind?" Riddle's voice was frosty now. "What the hell is that supposed to mean? Most respectable men marry, do they not? What are you insinuating, Mr. Black?"

"I'm...not..." Harry stared at Tom Riddle in confusion. "I'm so sorry, sir, I did not mean to insinuate anything... It's just that... Well, you are still so young, my age, almost, and I really could not see myself thinking of... of marriage for a very long time..." He flushed under Tom's penetrating glance.

To his relief, Tom shook his head and smiled. "It's all right, Elias. I know you didn't mean it the way it came out. You yourself may not be ready to contemplate marriage for a long time, but I see no reason to wait. I have been fortunate enough to win the favor of a very lovely young lady from an ancient pureblood family, and I wish to make her my wife as soon as I can."

"Yes, of course..."

"In fact," Tom's silver eyes glittered now, "my fiancee is distantly related to you, I believe. I have been fortunate enough to win the hand and the heart of Alphard and Cygnus Black's older sister, the beautiful Walburga."

Walburga Black? Where have I heard that name before?

It took a moment, but then the realization hit Harry like an Unforgivable Curse. Sirius' mother! The one in the portrait! But this isn't right - she can't marry him! She is supposed to marry Orion, who will become Sirius' father... If Tom Riddle marries Walburga, Sirius will never be born...


	5. Chapter 5

"Dreams," said Professor Inigo Imago dreamily, "are the most archaic form of magic. For in our dreams, the ancient wisdom of our hearts speaks of hidden truths that our minds cannot and will not see." His large soulful eyes gazed past the students in his Divination class, as if he were staring at some mysterious truth that lay ever so slightly beyond the confines of the classroom. "But sometimes I ask myself: What is dream, and what is reality? For are not our nightly dreams equally vivid as that dream which we call 'reality'? Who is to say what is real, and what is a dream? Perhaps all reality is, after all, yet another dream?"

He sighed softly. Drawing his midnight-blue robes closer around himself, he whispered in a strange faraway voice: "There was once a wise wizard in a distant land who dreamed that he was a phoenix. He soared through the blue air, and his heart was filled with joy. But then he woke up, and he recalled that he was just a man. But, being a wise man, he soon began to wonder: Was he a man who had dreamed that he was a phoenix, or was he a phoenix who was now dreaming that he was a man?"

"Merlin's beard, I need some coffee!" muttered Abraxas. "This stuff always make me so terribly sleepy."

"Now, please turn to your partner and discuss your most recent dreams. Try to look beyond the surface, try to see with your heart: What does the dream truly mean?"

Chairs scraped, students regrouped, and a quiet murmur of voices followed.

"Perfection..." Harry could make out John Lupin's voice nearby. "That's what I think your dream represents, Araminta. "The crowd that chases the deformed Muggle down the street with spears represents your own inner quest for absolute perfection."

No, I'm pretty sure it just represents her desire to chase Muggles with spears... Harry turned his attention to Abraxas. "So... er... had any good dreams lately?"

"Me?" Abraxas grinned. "Not nearly as good as yours, judging by the little cleaning spell I head you mutter this morning."

Harry felt himself flush. "Oh, Merlin, Abraxas! In didn't know anyone else was awake. Everyone has a dream like that every once in a while."

"I suppose so." Abraxas' grey eyes glittered. "Would you care to share the details of that delicious dream that caused you to... er... use that particular spell?"

"No, I wouldn't. I don't remember any of it anyway."

"That's too bad. I could help you interpret it, you know."

"No, thanks."

It's all your fault anyway, Abraxas Malfoy! You are the one who told me that my bed in the Slytherin dormitory used to be Tom Riddle's. So when he tells me that he's engaged to be married, it's only natural that my subconscious mind starts conjuring up images of what he and his fiancee were doing in my bed last year, on those smooth silver satin sheets. At least, I think it's only natural. I'm sixteen; sixteen-year-olds have weird erotic dreams all the time. Or am I seventeen now, inside the strange dreamworld of this memory? Of course the thought that someone may have made love in my bed affected me. It would make anyone dream strange dreams, wouldn't it? It wasn't really about them, about him and her. She was just a shadowy figure anyway; I can't even imagine what she may have looked like when she was young. And I just imagined his face because... Oh, God, I wish I could go back to dreaming of screaming dementors instead, like I used to. "

Harry cleared his throat. "I had a dream once about a man being attacked by a snake, at the end of a long, dark corridor. How about we talk about that one instead?"

Abraxas sighed. "Oh, all right. But I still think the other one would have been more interesting." He leafed through his Divination book. "Hmm. A man being attacked by a snake? Intriguing symbol - I wonder what that dream was all about..."

Actually, it was about a man being attacked by a snake.

...

Slughorn's soiree turned out to be everything that Harry had feared it would be. Dozens of people were chatting and exchanging insincere compliments around buffet tables laden with glittering crystal punch bowls, silver trays of delicate and absurdly tiny canapes, and elaborate floral arrangements that gave off a sweet, hypnotic scent. Thousands of enchanted candles cast their warm, flickering light over the guests and made already beautiful faces seem breathtaking, and plain faces more alluring.

Slughorn himself, dressed in maroon velvet robes, moved from one cluster of people to another, patting a shoulder here, touching an arm there. Like a collector caressing his prized artworks.

"There you are, Elias!" Slughorn pounced on Harry, pressing a crystal goblet filled with some sparkling liquid the color of moonlight into his hand. "Come here, my boy, there are some people who are dying to meet you." He dragged Harry over to a small group of people by the window. "Here he is, finally, the mysterious Elias Black, the young man without a past. We know nothing of where he came from, or who his parents were, and..." He lowered his voice to a whisper: "... Professor Dippet has warned us that we must not ask. Why must we not ask? Ah, my friends, even that is a mystery! But there are hints, more than hints, that young Elias is someone to be reckoned with. Didn't you tell me, Tom, that he resisted the Imperius curse? And that he is a parselmouth as well?"

"All true, Horace." Tom Riddle looked elegant in dark dress robes. Horace? Six months ago, you must have called him "Professor Slughorn", and now his first name rolls easily off your tongue. How effortlessly you move and laugh among these people, as if you actually enjoy this glittering charade.

"Fascinating..." Oswald Fudge was eyeing Harry eagerly now. There was something almost akin to hunger in his pale blue gaze. "I hear you are an excellent Quidditch player, too? Perhaps we could go and see some matches together, over the holidays. My father has very good connections; he can get us front row seats to any match we want."

"Perhaps," muttered Harry. He stared into his drink, imagining a rogue bludger knocking the pompous head boy into oblivion.

"Oh, damn it!" Tom Riddle, who was suddenly shaking with silent laughter, had spilled his drink all over Slughorn's robes. "I'm so sorry, Horace - I don't know how that happened. Here, let me dry you off."

"Oh, no matter, Tom. Nothing a little drying spell won't fix. Now, Elias, have you met Sabino Sanguini? He's from one of the oldest wizarding families in Europe."

"Enchanted," said Sanguini gravely and gave a little bow.

"And this is Eldred Worple, whose father is a close friend of the Minister himself."

Harry felt Tom Riddle leaning closer to him, and a silver voice breathed in his ear: "Whatever you do, don't make me spill my drink again. I can read your mind, remember."

Harry laughed. "I'll try not to... Oh, there's Dumbledore. I want to say hello to him. I... I want to hear more about his great duel with Grindelwald."

"Of course you do, my boy." Slughorn beamed at him. "I am very fortunate indeed to be able to count the man who may possibly be the greatest wizard of our time among my friends." He lowered his voice. "Rumor has it Dumbledore is under consideration for a very high position within the Ministry, a very high position indeed."

Harry, anxious to escape before Tom Riddle dug any deeper into his mind, hurried over to the other side of the room, where Dumbledore was standing, surrounded by a small crowd, fishing an edible moonflower out of his drink with his wand. He lit up when he saw Harry.

"Ah, here is Mr. Black. If you will excuse us, ladies and gentlemen, we have a matter of some importance to discuss. A confidential matter..."

The murmuring crowd parted respectfully before them as Dumbledore led Harry through a glass door onto a little terrace that overlooked the darkening Hogwarts grounds.

Dumbledore closed the door carefully behind them and leaned over the balustrade, taking deep breaths of the cool evening air.

Harry glanced curiously at him. "A confidential matter, Professor?"

Dumbledore sighed deeply. "Yes, Harry. A confidential matter. Let me tell you, right now, in the deepest confidence, that I detest parties. In fact, I detest people. Now, don't get me wrong; I like human beings. I like them very much, individually. But when they gather in hordes like this, they appear to lose their humanity, and they are transformed into this many-headed, ferocious monster called a crowd."

Harry laughed. "I take it you don't care for you new-found fame, sir."

"Fame!" Dumbledore grimaced. "Why anyone could possibly desire it is beyond me. All of a sudden, people you have never met crave your company, and yet, they care nothing for who you really are. If your name appeared in the headlines, they want to tell their friends that they know you personally. They shower you with unwanted gifts, and yet not one of them understands you well enough to bring you a sensible, useful gift, like... like..."

"A pair of warm socks?" suggested Harry gently.

Dumbledore blinked. "Yes, precisely. How did you-? Hm... We must know each other very well indeed, you and I, Harry."

Harry smiled. "We do, Professor. And I don't care much for fame either."

They stood without speaking for a few minutes, gazing out into the gathering darkness.

Then Harry broke the silence. "Professor? Can I ask you something?"

"Yes, of course. Anything, Harry."

"You..." The words seemed stuck in his chest. "You and Grindelwald..."

"Ah." Dumbledore fell silent again.

"Some people say that you and he were... lovers." Harry could hear the sound of his own heartbeat in the still night air.

"Do they?"

"They do." Harry was waiting, half hoping Dumbledore would laugh it off. But he didn't.

The moon was beginning to rise now; its silver sheen made the familiar landscape below seem wild and alien.

"Does that shock you, Harry?" Dumbledore's voice was gentle.

"I don't know... Perhaps not..."

"It should. It shocks me." Dumbledore stood for a long time, gazing into the night. Then he said softly: "The heart knows no reason, Harry. I'm afraid it's as simple as that. I know who he is, what he is, and yet I can no more stop loving him than I can stop breathing."

"Oh." Harry didn't know what to say.

"So much for my conquering the Dark Wizard of our time, Harry. I may have defeated him in a duel, but he still owns me, heart and soul. 'Dumbledore, The Greatest Wizard of Our Time', indeed!"

Harry gave Dumbledore's arm a comforting pat. "Well, at least you will appear on a Chocolate Frog card, sir."

"I... what?" An expression of delight spread over Dumbledore's face. "Are you serious, Harry? A Chocolate Frog Card? Now, there's a form of fame I actually care for... Do I become a rare card?"

"Er...no. You are fairly common."

Dumbedore nodded gravely. "I see. I still have something to strive for, then."

"There you are, Albus!" Slughorn suddenly materialized behind them. "You mustn't monopolize Elias, you know. There are still so many people who haven't had a chance to meet him. Come, you really must taste the mallowsweet soufflé."

And Slughorn steered them both gently back to the party.

...

After an hour of endless introductions and chit-chat more incomprehensible and meaningless than Ancient Runes, Harry found himself trapped in a corner with Horace Slughorn. The strange drink that kept appearing in his glass had gone slightly to his head, and he couldn't think of a way to escape.

"Finally! I have been waiting for a chance to exchange a few words with you alone, my boy. Did you try the puffapod-braised scallops yet? Oh, I really must insist that you taste one. And your glass is half-empty, too. Here, let me..."

Harry obediently swallowed a delicate little white puff covered in gleaming pink seeds.

Slughorn leaned closer and lowered his voice to a confidential whisper. "I am glad to see that you are becoming friendly with Tom, Elias. He is giving you private lessons, he told me, although he was very secretive about what he will be teaching you. A little bit of forbidden dark magic, I suspect? Oh, don't worry, my boy; I won't ask. It's only natural for an intelligent young wizard to be curious about the Dark Arts. Why, Tom himself charmed me into teaching him a thing or two that I really shouldn't have agreed to, strictly speaking. The two of you have a great deal in common, you know. You are both orphans, both tremendously talented, and of course, both quite good-looking..." Slughorn, sounding slightly inebriated now, nodded his head gravely. "You will both break the hearts of witches from some of the finest families in the land, I shouldn't wonder."

"Er..." Harry, for the lack of something better to do with his hands, helped himself to another one of the white puffs. "Well, Tom is already engaged, isn't he? To Walburga Black?"

To his surprise, Slughorn frowned a little. "Yes. Yes, he is engaged to Walburga. Perhaps a little too hasty on his part, I think."

"Really?" Harry looked hopefully at the potions master. Please tell me that you think Walburga is her cousin Orion's soul mate.

"Tom is really far too young to get married. Why, he's only eighteen! It's only natural, I suppose, that a boy who has grown up as a neglected orphan is eager to assume a position as a respected member of wizarding society. And now that he has won the coveted position of Professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts, I am not surprised that Tom dreams of establishing himself as a respectable family man - but this is really much too rushed. Walburga is a lovely young lady of course, from an ancient and noble pure-blood family, but I can't help thinking that her personality is a little too - how shall I say this? - too forceful, perhaps, for a young man of Tom's sensitive temperament."

Harry recalled Walburga Black's future portrait with a shudder and nodded his head in agreement.

Slughorn looked thoughtfully at Harry. "You know, Elias, I was thinking: Since you and Tom seem to get along so well, perhaps you could talk to him about it at some point? About not rushing things, I mean, and about enjoying a few years of carefree bachelor existence before assuming the burden of family life? I'm afraid he only laughs when I bring it up; he says that an old bachelor like myself is in no position to give advice on marriage."

Harry smiled. "I suppose I can always try, sir."

"Excellent! Oh, there's young Miss McGonagall from the ministry; she is a former student of mine. Let me introduce you, Elias."

Professor McGonagall? How very young she looks! She is actually rather pretty with her long, raven hair. Gah, did I just think that? Oh, wait, I recognize that stern look of disapproval she is giving Abraxas Malfoy; now she looks more like herself again.

"A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Black." McGonagall's voice was still the same. She frowned a little. "Wait, have we met before? You seem familiar to me?"

Harry flushed. "Er... No, I don't think we have met."

Her serious brown gaze lingered on his face. "How odd... It's almost as if I have seen your face in a dream."

"Ah, have you begun dreaming of the future, Minerva? I would never have thought you a psychic after your disgraceful performance in Divination two years ago, but you may still have some sort of hidden talent." Inigo Imago, the Divination professor, had joined the group now.

Minerva McGonagall gave him a friendly grin. "Hello, Professor. Divination was really not my best subject, was it? Much too murky and inconclusive for my tastes, I'm afraid. But at least I passed, unlike poor Sybill."

Harry smiled to himself. How startled you would be if I were to ask you if you mean Sybill Trelawney, a person I have not yet met. And how even more astonished you would be if I were to tell you that she will one day be the Hogwarts divination teacher. You might think I have the ability to foretell the future. And I do, except that I'm not predicting it; I am remembering it. Or is that the same thing? He cleared his throat and said softly: "Excuse me, Professor Imago, I was wondering if I could ask you a question?"

Imago nodded. "A question? Yes, something told me that you would have a question. Go ahead, my dear boy."

"If you have a vision, a glimpse of the future, either in a dream or... in some other way, will the future be precisely how you saw it? Is there a way to change the future events that you have already seen?"

Professor Imago gazed at Harry with strangely unfocused eyes, as if his glance had grown so accustomed to distant visions that he could no longer see this world very clearly. "Ah, are you a Seer, my dear boy? Is it possible that you possess that rare ability to gaze into the future and see what is to come?" He sighed. "What is the future? I fear it is nothing but a dream. And yet it is true, in a strange way, as all our dreams are. Perhaps our memories of the past are mere dreams as well? We think of the future as indeterminate, and our past as immutable, a series of events cast in stone. But is it really so? Perhaps the past and the future are equally unreal, mere dreams and fantasies recalled in the present..." His voice drifted off.

"Thank you, Professor. That's very... helpful..." Harry felt his mind spinning. Perhaps he needed a little more of that sparkling drink.

He caught sight of Abraxas by the punch bowl on the other side of the room and rapidly excused himself. At least he looks real enough, although a bit unsteady on his feet. A little too much moonflower punch, Abraxas?

Abraxas greeted him cheerfully. "Finally able to escape from Slughorn, were you? Was he able to show all his friends and admirers his new prized artifact, the amazing Mysterious Boy With a Scar?"

Harry made a face at him. "Here, let me have some more of that punch. You look like you've had enough already. "

"Enough? Don't be ridiculous, Elias. When I start flirting with Fudge, that's when I've had enough. I saw you have a little private chat with Slughorn in the corner, by the way. What was that about? Did he warn you about me? I can be a terribly bad influence on people, you know."

Harry laughed. "Oh, I don't need anyone to tell me that; I can see that for myself. No, it wasn't about you, you moron. We were just talking about Tom Riddle's engagement. Slughorn didn't seem to like it much, actually; he thinks Tom is too young, that he is rushing into things."

Abraxas chuckled. "Oh, old Slughorn doesn't like it one bit, anyone can see that. In fact, he hates the idea of Tom and the lovely Walburga together. But not just because Tom is too young, I think..."

"What? Is there another reason?"

Abraxas put an unsteady arm around Harry's shoulders and sighed dramatically. "Oh, my sweet innocent Elias, can't you see what's in front of your eyes? Slughorn doesn't want the handsome Tom Riddle to get married because he wants Tom for himself. He doesn't want Tom to marry Walburga because he so desperately wants Tom in his bed, you see."

Harry blinked at him. "What?"

There was a sudden sound behind them, a trembling gasp. Harry turned around and saw that Slughorn was standing there, white as death.

Abraxas flushed, and his grey eyes widened in shock. "Oh, Merlin's beard..."

Slughorn stood frozen for what seemed like an eternity before he finally found his voice. "Get out, Mr. Malfoy! Get out of my sight now. How dare you-? Get out! I never want to set eyes on you again, you foul little-" He was shaking with rage now.

"Abraxas is drunk, sir," said Harry softly. "Too much moonflower punch; he doesn't know what he's saying. Come, Abraxas, I'll take you down to the dormitory."

"Thank you, Elias." All the anger seemed to seep out of Slughorn now, and all his usual puffed-up conceit as well. He looked old and unwell, and Harry felt a stab of pity for him. Poor Slughorn. I wonder if it's true, what Abraxas said-?

"Too much moonflower punch, you say? Yes. Yes, that explains it..." There was a silent plea in Slughorn glance as he looked at Harry, something almost desperate. "Yes, I expect that's all it was, wasn't it?"

"Yes, Professor. Come on, Abraxas. Let's get you to bed before you pass out."

"You are a good boy, Elias," said Slughorn softly.

Harry dragged Abraxas toward the door and tried to ignore the curious looks from the other guests.

"Need a hand?" Tom Riddle rushed over. "Merlin, what happened to him? Too much punch?"

"Afraid so."

"Oh, Merlin, I'm an idiot," moaned Abraxas against Harry's shoulder as they maneuvered him carefully down the stairs to the Slytherin dormitory.

"He was a little... tactless, that's all," Harry muttered in response to Tom's quizzical glance. "I'm afraid he offended Professor Slughorn, but it will all be forgotten by tomorrow, I'm sure." But in his heart, Harry was not so sure at all that Slughorn would ever forgive Abraxas Malfoy.

It was already very late, and the other Slytherin boys were sleeping soundly. Harry and Tom steered Abraxas into his bed and threw his silver sheets over him. Abraxas sighed and muttered sleepily: "Maybe you could undress me first, Elias?"

"In your dreams, Malfoy."

Abraxas smiled angelically and closed his eyes. "Oh, all right. If you insist..." A moment after, he was sleeping.

Tom laughed softly and shook his head. "Exactly how much moonflower punch did he have?"

"No idea. A lot."

Tom glanced around the dormitory with a little smile. "How familiar this place is! This was my home for seven years... This was my bed, right here." He put his hand on Harry's silver pillow. "Oh." A slight flush crept over his cheeks. "This is your bed now, isn't it? All the other ones are taken, so this must be yours..."

Harry nodded silently. The dream. I mustn't think about my dream from last night. No, not the image of his face, flushed with desire... I must think of something else. Dementors. Snape's hair. The ammonia-laced smell of Aunt Petunia's cleaning solutions. Anything...

He tried not to look at Tom, but his glance was drawn, irresistibly, to the beautiful face of the young man who looked so terribly unlike Voldemort. Tom's gaze met his for a moment before they both looked away rapidly. Harry could feel his face grow hot.

"Good night, then, Mr. Black." Tom's voice sounded oddly formal all of a sudden.

"Good night, Professor Riddle."

After Tom had left, Harry sank down on his bed. He rested his burning face against the cool, smooth satin of his pillow, where Tom's hand had been a moment before.


	6. Chapter 6

"Wake up, Orion!" whispered Harry softly.

Orion Black peeked sleepily out from under the silver sheets, his long dark curls a complete mess. "Elias? 'S up?"

Merlin, how he looks like Sirius! I wonder if he can transform into a ragged black dog as well?

"It's my first Hogsmeade weekend, and I was wondering if you'd come with me. I need someone to show me the wonders of the magical village, and I'm afraid Abraxas is.. indisposed."

Orion glanced over at Abraxas, who was moaning under his blankets, and giggled. "Hung over?"

"Just a bit, yes. Slughorn's party last night was a little much for him. He's going to need to sleep in today."

"Looks like it. Hey, Elias, got any money for the shops in Hogsmeade? I'll give you some if you don't - my parents keep sending me owls with pouches of money. Got to keep up that Black style you know - otherwise, how would people be able to tell at a glance that we are superior?"

Harry laughed. "Thanks, but I've got a bag of galleons right here. Let's go explore Hogsmeade, shall we, Mr. Black?"

Orion sat up in bed, his dark eyes twinkling. "We shall, Mr. Black. Let's go to Honeydukes first for some nourishment, and then we can browse the latest fashions for elegant young wizards at Gladrags. And then perhaps Zonko's for a bit of a laugh, and the Three Broomsticks... Let's go out and paint the town Black! Do you want to have breakfast here first, or shall we just skip it? We might as well go straight for Honeydukes' Cockroach Clusters, don't you think? They are pretty nutritious, right?"

"Don't mention Cockroach Clusters..." murmured an indistinct voice from under Abraxas' covers. "I'm going to be sick, I think."

Orion dressed rapidly while Harry positioned a cauldron by Abraxas' bed and patted him gently on the head.

"I think the rest of the noble Black clan has already left for Hogsmeade," mused Orion as they headed up the stairs. "Cygnus and Druella are probably sitting at Madam Puddifoot's already, gazing into each other's eyes. And there can be no question of where Alphard is. My eccentric cousin adores the strange magical devices at Dervish & Banges; he is always hoping against hope that they will find him a time turner one day." He chuckled. "As if such a thing could ever really exist! Could you imagine what a mess it would be if people could travel back and forth in time?"

Harry could feel his heart beating faster. "That would be strange, wouldn't it?" He could almost hear Hermione's voice in his head: Awful things have happened when wizards have meddled with time.

Well, it seems that someone's already meddled with this time. Tom Riddle engaged to Walburga Black! Somehow, I have to get things back to the way they are supposed to be.

Harry and Orion stepped out into the glorious golden autumn day together and began walking the familiar path towards Hogsmeade. Somewhere in Hogsmeade, Tom Riddle is probably meeting his fiancee at this very moment. Perhaps Walburga is gazing into his silver eyes and feeling her heart flutter. Perhaps his lips are meeting hers in a passionate kiss that will trap her unborn son forever behind the veil that separates the unreal from the real... I have failed to rescue Sirius before, but I will not fail him this time.

Walburga must marry Orion, not Tom; otherwise Sirius will never be born. Or will he? What if Walburga married Tom, had a son, and named him Sirius? Would he still be the Sirius I know? No, impossible - he would be an entirely different Sirius, another person altogether. A different Sirius? No, I want my godfather, the rash and tempestuous animagus and former Marauder Sirius Black exactly how he was, fur and all! Come on, Orion, we have an unborn puppy dog to rescue, you and I... But how do I convince you that you are destined to steal your professor's fiancee?

"That's the Shrieking Shack over there," explained Orion cheerfully. "The most haunted house in Britain. There are all kinds of horrible howls and screams coming from over there; no one dares step near the place. Set one foot in there, and you might never come back."

Harry glanced at the familiar dilapidated house, shrouded in gloom and shadows. The most haunted house in Britain? This desolate old house will hide many secrets, but ghosts will not be among them. Wait a minute - How can there be shrieks in the Shrieking Shack in this time? I thought the ghostly howls will come from the Marauders when they are in their animal forms? So what could be shrieking in there now?

"You are not scared of ghosts?" At his side, Orion seemed a little disappointed in his lack of terror.

Harry shrugged. "Nah. Probably just some unregistered animagus romping around in there."

"What?" Orion stared wildly at him. "How... how do you know? Merlin, Elias, how did you find out about that? It's not possible. No one knows..."

Aha! Do you have a little secret, Orion? A little furry problem, perhaps, like you future son? Harry smiled at his agitated companion. "Oh, it was just a hunch. Don't worry, Orion, I won't tell a soul. Er... Just out of curiosity, what's your animagus form? Dog?"

"Black bear." Orion's voice was shaking, and he looked like he was going to be sick. "Please don't tell anyone. My parents will freak out."

"Of course not. Your secret is safe with me. I don't see what's so terrible about being an animagus, anyway. I've known others like you. My father - he was an animagus, too. That's one of the few things I know about him. I don't think he told a lot of people either, just his closest friends." Like your unborn son.

"Are you-?" Orion glanced at him uncertainly.

"What? An animagus?" Harry shook his head. "No, I'm afraid not. That would have been fun, though, wouldn't it? We could have chased each other around the Shrieking Shack!"

The delighted grin that spread over Orion's face made his seem more like Sirius than ever. "Really? That would have been something! It gets a little lonely in the Shrieking Shack sometimes, but it's a good place to hide when I can't resist transforming." He sighed wistfully. "Are you sure you can't transform? Maybe if you focus really hard? Maybe after a good breakfast?"

Harry laughed. "Afraid not. Trust me, after I learned that my father had been an animagus, I spent a whole summer trying till I was blue in the face." He glanced down the winding path that led to Hogsmeade. No one else was within earshot. "I do have a different sort of secret, though. I suppose it's only fair that I tell you my secret, since I accidentally discovered yours."

"You have a secret, too?" Orion lit up. "Wait, are you the secret love child of Phineas Nigellus Black and a Veela princess, like Abraxas is saying?"

Harry sighed. "Don't be absurd, Orion. Have you ever seen the portrait of Phineas Nigellus Black? Do you really think a Veela princess would fall for that old curmudgeon?"

Orion considered for a moment. "No, I suppose not. What's your secret, then? Were you involved in espionage during the war in Europe? Secret missions among the Transylvanian vampires, that sort of thing?"

"No, no espionage." Harry hesitated. I want to tell him something, but not too much. "Sometimes I know things about the future, about things that will happen years from now."

"You do?" Orion's dark gaze studied him intently. "You are a Seer?"

"I suppose so. I don't know everything about the future, of course, but I see some things very clearly, some things that won't happen for years and years."

"Like what?"

Harry drew a deep breath. "Well, like your sons, for example. You will have two sons, who will both attend Hogwarts. They will be handsome and clever, and both of them will be excellent Quidditch players. I expect you will teach them how to play when they are very young."

"Really?" A smile spread over Orion's face. He looked dreamily into the distance. "I think I would like that, playing Quidditch with the little tykes... What will their names be?"

"Regulus and Sirius."

"Regulus and Sirius? I like those names. They are good Black family names. I have an uncle named Regulus, and my grandfather's name was Sirius. Perhaps there is something to your vision of the future, Elias. But what about their mother? My wife? Who is she?"

Harry cleared his throat. "Well... that's the thing, you see... Your wife..."

Orion looked at him, panic-stricken. "I won't marry a Muggle, will I? My parents will kill me!"

Harry smiled. "Oh, no, she is no Muggle. Far from it. She is a witch from an ancient pure-blood family. Very pretty too." When she is young, at least.

"Really?" Orion's eyes glittered. "I like where this is going. Tell me her name, so I can meet her right away."

Oh, you have already met her, Orion. "Well, there is a slight problem, Orion. You see, in my vision, you will marry your cousin Walburga Black."

"Walburga?" Orion stood for a moment, frozen to the spot. A slight flush crept over his face. "Walburga Black? Seriously? Walburga will marry me? Have you seen her, Elias? I mean, she is prettier than Araminta even. She can have her pick of any pure-blood wizard in the country, and you say she will choose me?" His dark eyes were shining now. "I have always admired her, of course, but I have never considered... But there's nothing wrong with marrying your cousin, is there? It is not common, but wizarding law does allow it. And we do have a great deal in common."

I swear he is falling in love as he speaks!

Suddenly, Orion's face clouded over. "Wait, how could I forget? Walburga is already engaged! To Professor Riddle!"

Harry nodded. "Yes, she is engaged to Tom Riddle. They are meeting each other in Hogsmeade today. And yet, in my vision, I saw her so clearly with you. I have no doubt that you are destined for each other."

Orion glanced toward the village. "They are meeting each other in Hogsmeade? She's here? Today? With him?"

Harry nodded. "That's right. We will probably see them there."

"And... and then, what?" Orion looked doubtfully at him. "There is no way we can intrude on their date in Hogsmeade, is there?"

"Perhaps fate will intervene on your behalf, Orion. You and Walburga are meant for each other. Come on, where's that black bear courage?"

Orion laughed. "Black bear courage, huh? I'm no coward, but - stealing Professor Riddle's fiancee? You are insane, Elias, you know that? But I don't suppose there is much point in fighting against destiny, is there? All right, let's go and and see if we can find them, and then... Well, we'll just see what happens next. You... you really think she will fall for my ...er... bearish charm?"

I hope she will, Orion... Oh, I really hope she will.

"Of course." Merlin, I wish I had my invisibility cloak with me; then we'd be able to sneak closer without them seeing us.

"What are you looking for?" Orion looked curiously at Harry, who was checking the pockets of his robes one last time, although he knew perfectly well that his invisibility cloak was safe in his future school trunk, fifty years from now.

"I wish I had my invisibility cloak," muttered Harry. "I had one once, but I left it behind when I came here."

"Did you?" Orion grinned. "Well, I suppose we'll have to use mine, then." He produced something sheer, the color of moonlight, from his pocket. "Christmas present from my cousin Alphard. Comes in very handy when I have to sneak off to the Shrieking Shack."

...

Tom and Walburga were seated together at a secluded lace-covered table at the back of Madam Puddifoot's. Madam Puddifoot herself, very much younger and slimmer than Harry remembered her, had just served them tea in dainty little china cups. Harry noted with a sinking heart that Walburga was indeed every bit as devastatingly beautiful as Araminta. Night-black curls framed an almost preternaturally lovely face. Her large black eyes glittered, and her skin was the most delicate ivory. She was dressed all in black, but there was a hint of refinement in the cut of her dress that suggested sophistication rather than mourning. A large diamond ring sparkled on the small hand that rested in Tom's on the table.

Harry could feel Orion draw his breath sharply under the cloak. "Merlin, she is lovely, isn't she!"

Tom lifted Walburga's alabaster hand to his lips and kissed it. His hand. His hand that holds hers so tenderly... That's the same hand that lingered on the pillow of my bed last night. When I rested my cheek against the pillow a moment later, it was still warm from his touch.

Tom dropped Walburga's hand; a slight flush swept across his handsome face now.

"What's the matter, Tom?" Her voice was rich and smooth as velvet.

"Nothing. I just... remembered something..." Tom's voice trailed off.

"Something important?" She looked deeply into his eyes.

"No, it was nothing, really. Nothing at all..." He reached for her hand and caressed it slowly, ran his fingers gently over her palm, before raising her hand to his lips again.

"Merlin! Will you stop doing that? That's my future wife you are seducing, Tom!" breathed Orion indignantly under the cloak.

"It's wonderful to see you again, Tom." Walburga leaned forward a little. "It has been far too long."

"Far too long, indeed, my love." Tom laced his fingers into Walburga's on the table. "I wish there was a way we could see each other more often."

Harry recalled Walburga's future portrait at Number 12 Grimmauld Place, screaming vile curses at him every time he passed. Careful what you wish for, Tom!

"Tom! You are hurting me!" Walburga withdrew her hand rapidly from Tom's. "Why did you clench your hand like that?"

"I.. I don't know. Just this strange thought... So sorry, my love."

"You wish we could see each other more often?" Walburga stirred some sugar into her tea and took a small sip. She grimaced slightly, as if its sweetness offended her. "Well then, what are we waiting for? As soon as we are married, I can move into your rooms at Hogwarts, and we can be together always." She reached across the table and traced Tom's lips with her finger. "We had talked about a springtime wedding, but why wait? The sooner we are married, the sooner we can become one. In all ways, my love."

"Put your wand back, Orion!" hissed Harry softly.

Tom looked taken aback. "A wedding now? But what about all the things that need to be arranged? Surely, they will take some time? I... I want the day to be perfect, my love. Wouldn't May be much better? Or June? Think of the ceremony, the catering, the musicians, your dress..."

"You forget the most important part, Tom." Walburga put her hand on his arm.

"The most important part?"

"Our wedding night."

Oh, this is absurd. Who can possible imagine the Dark Lord as a bridegroom, carrying his blushing bride into their bedchamber on their wedding night? He is not meant to be a gallant suitor, an attentive husband. Someone's dark lover, perhaps, that I could imagine; for he is, after all, so very handsome. I could see him folding someone in a fierce embrace, tearing wildly at someone's clothes in frantic desire, his eyes dark with lust...

"Are you all right, Tom? You look flushed."

"It's a little stuffy in here. I think I need some air."

Walburga got up. "Why don't you pay the bill and walk me to my lodging? Perhaps the walk will do you some good."

"Yes, I think that will be a good idea." Tom helped her into her coat and found her gloves for her.

Walburga looked up at him with a slight smile. "The landlady said she had errands to run; she will be out most of the afternoon. Perhaps you can come up to my room for a while?" She glanced around the tea shop. "What on earth was that? That odd sound - like a wild animal?"

Tom shook his head. "I have no idea. I heard it too - it sounded almost like a bear." He cupped Walburga's face in his hands and kissed her softly on the lips. "I'm sure it was nothing, my love. Nothing at all..."

...

Half an hour later, a young couple emerged from the small bed and breakfast at the end of High Street in Hogsmeade. They seemed so distraught and preoccupied that they did not appear to notice that they bumped, rather roughly, into something or someone right outside the front door, although there was nothing to be seen there.

"I'm so sorry Walburga... I'm just distracted today. I tried, I really did."

"Tried? And why do you have to try so hard? There are many men who would gladly give their lives for one chance at... Oh, enough of this! Here, take this!" Walburga pulled her glove off and tore the diamond ring from her finger. She tossed it at her companion, hard.

Tom Riddle turned on his heel and walked away without another word.

Walburga turned at the slight sound by her side. "Cousin Orion? Where did you spring from?"

"Oh, I happened to be walking by. It's such a lovely morning for a stroll. Forgive me for staring at you, Walburga; I did not mean to be rude. Your breathtaking beauty made me forget my manners for a moment. If I didn't know better, I could have sworn that you must have Veela blood in your veins. But I know that cannot possibly be true; ours in one of the few remaining wizarding families whose bloodline has remained pure and unadulterated. If you will permit me, you seem to have dropped your glove."

Orion retrieved the fallen glove hastily from the dusty street. Somehow, the small black glove found its way to his lips before he handed it back to Walburga.

Walburga looked at him and smiled, ever so slightly, before accepting the glove.


	7. Chapter 7

Harry walked slowly back from Hogsmeade in the golden light of a long-ago day in September. The path itself was familiar, but some of the trees that grew alongside it were different in this time. He paused and ran his fingers over the bark of a massive oak tree. This tree will not be here in the future; I wonder what will happen to it? Perhaps it will be struck by lightning? Or perhaps it will be cut down? I don't suppose I will ever find out; it's not the sort of thing anyone will remember. It's just a tree, after all, part of the unremembered landscape of the past.

Am I still inside someone's memory? If so, are my actions changing what that person remembers? Perhaps there is a person, somewhere is the future, who is being driven to insanity right now by what I am doing to the recollections inside his mind? Oh, nonsense! If this is indeed someone's memory, he must already be insane...

I wonder if any of this is real? I can feel the rough bark of this tree under my fingers; how can this not be real? Perhaps this is reality, and my recollections of the future just some strange dream? Perhaps I am Elias Black of Slytherin House, who dreamed wondrous dreams of a scarred boy named Harry Potter, and imagined that his handsome young teacher would one day become a terrifying monster?

"Lost in dreams, Elias?"

Harry looked up, startled.

"Are you all right?" Tom Riddle touched his arm gently.

Real. His touch feels real. We are standing here together, Tom Riddle and I, on a golden day in September, under a tree that no longer exists. But right now, in this moment, the tree is real, and so are his silver eyes. The crimson-eyed Lord Voldemort does not yet exist.

"I'm just... thinking..."

"Would you like to go for a walk?" Tom asked softly. "It's a beautiful day for walking, and I could use some company."

Harry nodded silently.

They veered off the path and walked together over the heath that stretched beyond it. The Forbidden Forest was a dark blur at the horizon, but the shadowy forest seemed strangely weightless and insubstantial in the golden light, as if it were nothing but a black cloud lingering in the distance. They wandered, side by side, over moors covered in purple heather. They marveled at the colors, but the heather tore at the bottom of their robes, so in the end they had to pull their robes off and carry them. They were both wearing ordinary pants and shirts underneath.

If someone saw us now, they wouldn't know that we were wizards; they would just think we were two boys roaming around the countryside. They wouldn't know that Tom is a professor, and that I'm his student. They would just think we were friends.

They walked till they tired, and then they flopped down in the heather, side by side. It wasn't very comfortable, of course; the little shrubs poked them through their clothes, but it felt good to rest in the sunshine anyway.

Harry glanced over at Tom, who was lying in the heather with his eyes closed, and tried to remember that the boy by his side was Voldemort. Somehow, that thought seemed terribly unlikely in the September sun.

"Ouch! My hair is stuck..." muttered Tom suddenly, and Harry, laughing, leaned over and helped untangle his dark curls from the heather.

"It's not safe to lie down in the heather, Tom, unless you have straight hair, like me."

Tom sat up with a smile. "Well, you may not be stuck, but you have little twigs in your hair, all the same. Here, let me... You can't go back to school looking like that."

How odd, to feel his fingers through my hair... It feels pleasant.

"Do we really have to go back to school? I think I'd rather stay out here in the sun."

"Mmm. Me too. But don't tell anyone your professor said that." Tom smiled.

"I won't." Harry studied the face of the boy beside him. The strange guilt he had tried to brush aside all day finally surfaced. "Tom-?"

"Yes?"

"Are you... sad? About Walburga?"

Tom looked down. His face flushed a little. "News travels fast, Elias. Or are you reading my mind? You'd better not; there's no knowing what you'd find there..." He shrugged. "I don't really know how I feel about what happened this morning. Of course I am disappointed that she ended our engagement. I had a vision of the future, you see, of myself as a respected Hogwarts professor, perhaps even headmaster one day, with a lovely pure-blood bride by my side. I suppose it's always difficult to give up our dreams of the future."

Harry swallowed. "Yes, I suppose it is."

Tom tore awkwardly at a little piece of heather and shredded it between his fingers. "I thought I was in love with Walburga, and yet I seem to mourn the loss of my perfect future more than my loss of her. Perhaps you were right about what you said, Elias."

"Right about what?"

Tom looked into the distance and whispered: "Perhaps I'm not the marrying kind after all."

"Oh." Harry didn't know what to say. Perhaps it would have been better, after all, if you were. Better for you. If you learned to love someone, perhaps you would not become Voldemort. But I had to to what I did for Sirius.

"Elias?" Tom leaned forward. "I can sense him in your mind again, that terrifying figure who killed your parents. You think of him quite often, don't you? I can catch glimpses of your thoughts, horrible images from a graveyard."

"The graveyard. Yes." Harry studied the heather intently.

"So you met him again, then? Later on?"

"Yes, I met him... again..." Harry didn't want to look up.

"Are you still afraid of him?"

Harry felt something brush against his face, a light touch, almost like a caress. Tom's hand. His hand against my cheek.

He could hear his voice tremble as he answered: "Yes."

"Don't be afraid. I won't let anyone harm you." Tom's voice was a whisper.

Oh, Tom, if only you knew.

"It's curious, isn't it?" said Tom quietly. "This strange connection between us... I have felt it since the moment I saw you. I have never been able to see into someone's thoughts before, not like this. I wonder what has created this bond between my mind and yours?"

I have often wondered about that myself, Tom.

"It sounds odd, I know, but somehow it feels as if you are a part of my soul." Tom spoke softly, as much to himself as to Harry.

A part of your soul? Something began to stir in Harry's mind. I am a part of Voldemort's soul? His splintered soul, whose fragments are concealed in the horcruxes he created...

Horcruxes?

Oh, God. No. Not this... No, it can't be... A horcrux?

"Elias?" Tom's voice came from somewhere far away. "Are you ill? Merlin, you look as pale as death. What is happening to you? Are you going to faint? Come, let's get you back to school. Lean on me if you want, I'll help you back. Why are you shivering like that? Sit down, then, if you can't walk. I'll get help for you."

Harry saw, as if in a haze, Tom pull his wand from his pocket. Tom drew his breath and whispered hesitantly: "Expecto Patronum." Harry watched, in mild surprise, as a shimmering silver form sprang from Tom's wand and ran in the direction of the school.

"My first patronus," Tom said with a slight smile. "I think it's a stag... It should bring you help in a few moments."

Harry nodded and sank down in the heather, trying not to look at Tom.

A horcrux?

He closed his eyes, but it didn't help. He could still feel Tom's gaze.

The Dark Lord produced a patronus. I wonder what his happiest memory is?

He felt his thoughts reaching out for Tom's mind, but the only recollection he could sense was that of his own laughter as he untangled Tom's curls from the heather.

...

"I don't need to go to the hospital wing."

Professor Dippet sighed. "Don't be silly, Elias. Tom is quite right. You need some rest. It's only natural, of course, that memories of your tragic past will occasionally distress you. But when that happens, my dear boy, you need the capable care of Madam Derwent rather than the company of your Slytherin friends."

"But we will take such good care of him, Professor! Honestly, we will!"

"I hardly think you are the best cure for a nervous shock, Mr. Malfoy." Armando Dippet shook his head.

"Oh, but I really think he is, Professor. I'm feeling much better already." Harry managed a weak grin.

Professor Dippet wavered. "Well, if you are absolutely certain..."

"Oh, I am, Professor. I... I just didn't eat today, that's all. I was so excited to go to Hogsmeade, you see. It was my first visit."

"I've got sausage," put in Abraxas helpfully. "And pies. In the common room."

"Do you?" Professor Dippet blinked. "Well, I suppose that's all right, then. Although I don't think Tom Riddle will be very pleased about this."

...

"What the hell happened to you anyway?" murmured Abraxas, his mouth full of pie. "Tom said something about a memory of a dark wizard attacking you in a graveyard, and someone getting killed."

"Mhm. Do you have any more of that sausage?"

"Yes, of course. Here. Orion promised to bring me some butterbeer, but he's vanished, that scoundrel. Never came back from Hogsmeade. That dark wizard who attacked you - want to talk about it?"

"No."

"Okay. Fair enough. Want some sardines? They are really good for hangovers; they might help for bad memories, too. "

"All right." If I ever go back to the future, Abraxas Malfoy, I want to take you with me. You are a lot more helpful than Hermione.

...

"Now that is a grassy hill!" Professor Beery closed his eyes in ecstasy. "Professor Dumbledore has really outdone himself this time! And the fountain, too! The perfect setting for the romantic finale of our pantomime. The Fountain of Fair Fortune will be the absolutely magnificent! " He opened his eyes again. "Oh, excellent choice of costume, Elias; that emerald cape brings out the color of your eyes. Miss Meliflua, you look captivating, as always. I will leave this final scene in your capable hands, then, Tom. I'm going to check on the progress of the Great Worm."

Tom Riddle turned to the actors. "Now, this is the moment when the heartbroken Amata, so cruelly abandoned by her lover, walks upon that... grassy knoll, was it?... and raises her eyes and sees the ever faithful Sir Luckless by her side. Take it from there, please."

Araminta positioned herself gracefully upon the grassy hill and raised her sapphire eyes to Harry.

"Finally," said Tom softly, "after all these lonely years, you have found the one your heart was yearning for. Can you put a little more yearning in that glance, Araminta? Oh, excellent; that's really very good. And then you, Sir Luckless, sweep her up in your arms."

He looked sternly at Harry. "Sweep her up, Sir Luckless."

Harry sighed and swept.

"...and then your lips meet hers in a passionate kiss."

Harry looked doubtfully at Araminta. She looked radiant in her sapphire blue silk gown. Her eyes sparkled, and her lips were full and moist and pink. They should have been so easy to kiss. Harry sighed and leaned in. Muggles. She wants to make Muggle-hunting legal... He tried to push the image of the poor Muggle family who had been attacked by Death Eaters during the Quidditch World Cup out of his head. A mother, a father, and two children. Attacked because they were Muggles. No. Mustn't think of them. Uncle Vernon. Must think of Uncle Vernon, being chased down the street by Araminta with a spear... Maybe Dudley, too.

He pressed his lips to Araminta's, hard.

Araminta pushed him back, none too gently. "What the hell was that?"

"A kiss-? suggested Harry hopefully. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see John Lupin smiling.

Araminta sighed. "Elias? Have you ever kissed anyone before?"

"Of course I have." Harry thought back to Cho's sloppy kiss under the mistletoe, and Ginny's...

"And did the girls you kiss seem at all...happy about it?" There was a note of exasperation in Araminta's voice now.

Harry thought for a moment. Well, Cho had cried, that was true. But Ginny had seemed happy enough. She had done most of the kissing, though, and Harry had sort of just gone with the flow. It was clear that Araminta did not expect to do most of the kissing.

"Now, come here, Elias." There was a hint of laughter in Tom's voice. "Let me show you... First of all, it won't do to rush in like that, like you are trying to ambush her. First, you have to gaze into her eyes, deeply, like this. And when you see her glance soften - excellent, Miss Meliflua, that's just what I'm talking about - you lean towards her, like this... And then you cup her face gently in your hand..." He guided Harry's hand towards Araminta's cheek - "... and you touch your lips, ever so gently, to hers. Better, Mr. Black, considerably better, but you may try breathing next time. You sounded like you were choking."

Harry tried. He gazed into the brilliant sapphire eyes, leaned towards Araminta, touched his hand lightly to her flawless face, touched his lips softly against hers. But he couldn't stop the thoughts racing through his mind. Muggles. Running for their lives, pursued by Araminta with a shotgun. Old Mrs. Figgs. Hermione's parents. Hermione herself. Harry couldn't help it. He winced.

"Merlin! What are you doing?" Araminta sounded very annoyed now.

Tom Riddle sighed deeply. "Take a little break, Elias. Understudy, please? Oh... er, very good. That was... ahem... breathtaking, Mr. Lupin. Now that is the proper way to kiss, Mr. Black."

"Right." Harry glanced at Lupin, who was still clutching Araminta in his arms. I have to find Augusta Moon, Neville's grandmother. Maybe she can help me with one of those vomiting charms, so I'll be sick on the night of the performance.

...

"That," said Abraxas Malfoy, shaking his head slowly, "was the worst kissing I've ever seen in my life."

Harry flushed. He looked around the classroom. Fortunately, everyone else seemed to have left by now. "Well, I'm not that good at it, okay?"

Abraxas was grinning at him now. "Okay? No, Elias, that's not okay at all. Someone has to teach you how to kiss properly..."

And before Harry knew what was happening, he felt himself swept up in a pair of strong arms, and soft lips pressed against his own.

"Abraxas, what are you-?"

"Stop talking," breathed Abraxas against his mouth. "Oh, Merlin, your mouth. Just let me... No, shut up."

Harry obendiently shut up. He had no idea what to say anyway.

Warm. The lips that trembled against his own were warm, not cold and hard like Araminta's. Hands roamed through his hair, stroked down his back... Without thinking, Harry reached up and buried his hands in Abraxas' soft white-gold curls. No memories. No horcuxes. Just my fingers in his hair, his mouth against mine. Abraxas moaned slightly and pulled him closer.

Harry could feel Tom's presence before he could see him.

Tom stood in the doorway; his face was white, and it showed no emotion whatsoever. But Harry could feel something simmering, white-hot, beneath the surface.

"Mr. Black?" Tom's voice was calm and unperturbed. "I am so sorry to interrupt, but I need a word with you."


	8. Chapter 8

Harry and Tom wove their way through the ancient labyrinthine corridors of Hogwarts. They walked in silence, like strangers who had nothing to say to each other, or like old friends who knew each other so well they no longer had a need for words; Harry couldn't decide which. He glanced over at Tom as they walked, and his breath caught in his chest. I am your horcrux... Something he couldn't name was tearing at his heart; it felt like the Cruciatus curse, but infinitely sweeter.

In the future I left behind, we were mortal enemies, you and I. Two days ago, when we walked on the moor, we were friends and we laughed together. But today, in this sudden silence that quivers between us, I can finally sense it: there is something between us that is deeper than both enmity and friendship. I am your horcrux. I carry within me a fragment of your lost soul. We are one, Lord Voldemort and the Boy Who Lived. I wonder if two people were ever as strangely bound together as we are? We two, alone among all mortals, share a soul...

We met so briefly in the future, my Dark Lord. Our encounters were fragments of a nightmare, filled with terror and darkness. But even when you were not there, there was always the shadow of you, lingering in my dreams. You were always in my thoughts, but I didn't know you then; I didn't know the soft look your eyes had once; I didn't know the sound of your laughter. How different you are now! As I look at you now, the future seems to be ebbing away, and I feel that this must be you, Tom, the young man with the soft curls, and not that dark wizard of tomorrow. Perhaps Voldemort is nothing but a dream after all?

Do you know what I am, Tom? Oh, how can you know? I don't think you know it even in the future. You feared the prophecy about the two of us, and you wanted me dead. But I wonder... Was there not after all something in you that half recognized what I was? Your death eaters could easily have killed me, but something, perhaps some strange whisper in your heart, made you tell them not to touch me, that I was yours alone to kill?

Can you feel it now, Tom? Do you recognize me? No, your mind is too preoccupied, I can sense that now. You are thinking of Abraxas, of his mouth against mine, and you are thinking of serpents, ripping him to pieces...

"Tom?"

Tom turned and looked at him, absently. "What?"

"He was just trying to help me. With the play, I mean. The final scene with the kiss. Call off the serpents, will you?"

"The serpents-?" Tom looked at him in surprise for a moment, and then he flushed deeply. "Merlin, leave my mind alone, Elias!"

They had arrived at Tom's office now, and Tom flung the door open. His study was as warm and welcoming as it had been the last time Harry entered it, and a fire crackled cheerfully in the fireplace.

"Have a seat. Let me lock the door, so no one will disturb us."

Harry didn't sit; he merely stood and looked at Tom. Your dark curls. Your grey eyes. That all too human flush...Voldemort? It seems impossible, looking at you now, that you will one day become Voldemort. I wish there was a way to hold time still, so the future never comes...

Tom turned to him abruptly. His eyes were suddenly darker now, or perhaps it was just the way the light and shadows from the fire fell over his face that made it appear that way. "Are you in love with him, Elias?" His voice sounded hoarse.

"With who-? Oh, with Abraxas, you mean?" Harry looked at the carpet, his cheeks burning. For a moment, he had forgotten about Abraxas. " I don't know. I don't think so... I liked kissing him more than kissing Araminta, but perhaps he was just better at it. He was trying to teach me how to kiss, you see..."

"He was trying to teach you how to kiss?" Tom's voice was a whisper now. "I dare say the flighty Mr. Malfoy may have some considerable experience, but that hardly makes him an expert on the subject of kissing. Your lip... it's bruised from the fierce attack of his mouth." A finger touched Harry's swollen lower lip lightly. "And that way he was pushing himself against you..." Tom's finger still lingered against his lips. "That's not what kissing is supposed to be like. It's supposed to be more like... like this..."

The next instant, soft trembling lips found Harry's mouth, and a name that wasn't his own was whispered against his lips: "Elias..."

For a moment, Harry had a strange sensation of falling from a great height, of being swept away by a great black and silver wind. Tom's lips caressed his mouth, his face... This can't be real. Voldemort... I must try to remember... But all his recollections of the Dark Lord were fading, vanishing like a dream under Tom's gentle kisses. Without thinking, he kissed Tom back.

Frantic kisses now, against his lips, his face, his hair... Harry couldn't breathe, couldn't think... All reality seemed to dissolve into the flame that spread through his flesh, through his mind, through his soul. A name, breathed against his skin. "Elias..."

"No, not Elias." Harry buried his lips against the warmth of Tom's throat. The words sprang from his mouth, unbidden. "My name is not Elias. I'm Harry."

"Harry?" Silver eyes regarded him with wonder. "Your name is Harry?" A slight smile: "Yes, I think that name suits you better." Tom accepted Harry's confession without hesitation, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "It seems almost familiar. Perhaps I used to dream of someone named Harry..."

Tom held him tight, and Harry could feel a heart beating furiously against his chest. It should have felt horribly wrong, his future enemy's embrace, but it didn't. Somehow, reality itself seemed to have gone astray, hopelessly lost now in some twisted tangle of time and memories. There is no future yet. There is no Voldemort. There is just this moment, and you, warm in my arms. They stood still, arms around each other, for what seemed like an eternity, clinging desperately to one another.

Tom whispered: "I seem to have fallen in love with you, Harry..."

The sound of his name, his real name, spoken by that silver voice sent a pleasurable shiver down Harry's spine. Tom...I wonder when I fell in love with you? A moment ago, when you kissed me? Two days ago when we walked together in the sun? Or perhaps it was in the beginning, when a splinter of your soul found its way into my heart? Perhaps it doesn't matter... Everything seems like a dream. Everything except you.

Tom stroked his cheek gently with a hand that trembled ever so slightly. "We have to be careful for now, but next year when you have graduated, perhaps we can..."

"Oh, don't speak about the future!" Harry's mouth found Tom's lips and kissed them, frantically.

Tom gave him a fiery kiss in return and whispered: "I'm sorry, Harry, that was presumptuous of me... I didn't mean..." He pulled back, hesitantly. Harry saw a sudden flicker of panic in the silver eyes. "When you kissed me back, I thought that maybe you felt the same way... I'm sorry, I shouldn't have..."

Harry flung is arms around Tom and held him tight. "Tom-? I... I love you..." He could hear his voice shaking. "I want to be with you right now, here in the present. I can't bear to think about the future..." His lips found Tom's, and he felt his heart thundering in his chest. He seemed to recall, vaguely, something about a shattered prophecy made of glass, and the silver glitter of a cup that whisked him away to a graveyard, but those recollections seemed mere shadows now, unreal, compared to the tearing of his shirt under Tom's frantic hands, and the silver of Tom's eyes.

They fell together in a tangled heap on the floor, whispering incoherently of love and wanting, tearing at the clothes that separated them from one another. Inexperienced hands and mouths searched, hesitant at first. Warm skin found warm skin. Lips parted, frenzied tongues explored. Trembling hands found deliciously rock-hard shafts. They rubbed against each other, frantically and deliriously, overcome with lust. Harry's eyes met Tom's silver gaze, and they shivered as they came all over one another and the carpet and their jumbled clothes.

They collapsed against each other, trembling and breathless. Harry rested his head against Tom's shoulder, breathing in the scent of his skin. Tom's unsteady fingers stroked Harry's hair, again and again. He brushed the hair away from Harry's forehead and pressed his lips against his scar.

"Who are you, Harry?"

Harry reached out and traced Tom's face with his hand.

"I don't know..."

...

They stayed together until morning, huddled up together in front of the fire. Tom wrapped a blanket over them both, and they lay together, skin against skin, and gazed into the dying embers of the fire as they whispered softly to each other. They talked through the night, their conversation interrupted every few hours by hands that began to stray over smooth skin, setting their bodies aflame again.

There were fevered attempts at penetration, but there was too much pain, and neither one really knew what they were doing, so they let their hands and mouths and tongues bring them to peaks of frantic pleasure instead. "I think there are spells that can make this easier..." breathed Tom against Harry's ear. "Being inside... I can always look them up if you want."

Harry smiled. "Always the scholar, professor Riddle..."

Tom flushed and groaned. "I could give you detention for your impertinence, Mr. Black."

"Excellent idea," whispered Harry. Their eyes met, and they both began laughing helplessly.

But in between the furious flares of desire and pleasure, Tom talked. He talked to Harry, softly, of all manner of things. He talked of his life in the orphanage, of loneliness and hunger and beatings, of school days and of dreams. He talked of his father, although he always stopped short when he came to the part about arriving at Little Hangleton as a sixteen year old boy, seeking out his father at last. Harry listened hungrily, committed every one of Tom's secrets to memory, tucked them away in his mind as if they were mysterious treasures. They laughed together at the story of Tom's first clumsy kiss - with a dark-haired Ravenclaw girl called Acacia in his fifth year - and at Harry's memories of his awkward date with Cho. Harry did not mention where he had met her, or that the tea shop they had gone to on that dreadful Valentine's Day was Madam Puddifoot's.

Harry made Tom describe everything; the names and faces of the other children at the orphanage, his emotions on the day when Dumbledore had arrived to invite him to Hogwarts, his first trip to the wondrous Diagon Alley, his first glimpse of Hogwarts, his classes, the lonely summers back at the orphanage, his wooing of Walburga...

Finally, Tom stopped all his questions with a kiss. "Enough, Harry! It's too easy to talk to you. I have never talked to anyone like this. There is dangerous magic in those green eyes of yours; when you look at me like that, there is nothing I wouldn't tell you..."

Harry kissed him back until Tom began to moan under his lips. "Tell me of your father, then." He drew back from Tom and waited.

"My father?" How white Tom's face was now! "Why do you ask me about him, Harry? Merlin, what kind of wizard are you?"

Harry rested his hand against the pale cheek. "I want to know, Tom. I want you to tell me how it happened."

Tom was silent for a long time. Then finally, he whispered: "I had wondered what he was like. Ever since I was a small child, I had wondered about him, the man who had abandoned my mother and me so heartlessly. When I was very young, I used to dream that he would come for me one day, that he would stand at the door of the orphanage, handsome and smiling, and say: "I have come for my son." But the years passed, and he never came... And then one day, I went to find him. How terribly strange it was, to stand outside the grand, imposing house and think: My father lives in there, and my grandparents as well... I rang the bell, and when my father opened, I recognized him at once. He looked like me, you see. Except that he was dressed so elegantly, like a refined gentleman of means, and I was wearing thin, second-hand clothes I had been given at the orphanage. We stared at each other for a moment. Perhaps things would have been different if he had smiled at me. Perhaps I could have forgiven him for the years of abuse and neglect I had suffered in the orphanage, if only he had smiled at me. But he didn't. He merely looked at me, his eyes cold, and said: "I suppose you want money. You had better come in, then." And he led me into a splendid sitting room, where an old lady and gentleman were sitting and drinking tea, and he said to them: "The witch's son is here. We had better pay him off, handsomely, so he does not return. Mother, will you write a cheque-?" And the white-haired lady looked at me with an expression of great distaste and said: "Yes, of course, Tom. How much do you think we need to pay him? Five thousand pounds, or ten?""

Tom swallowed. "And then I pulled my wand out, and I spoke the ancient curse. I killed my father, my grandmother, and my grandfather. And then I left them there, as they had fallen, crumpled on the floor in that beautiful sitting room. I left, without anyone seeing me. I didn't cry until I came back to the orphanage." He turned his glance away from Harry's.

Harry kissed him gently, and color flooded over the pale face.

"What are you doing-? You are kissing me? Doesn't it bother you that I am a murderer?"

"Of course it does. But I have always known it in my heart, Tom, ever since I first saw you. I have always known that you killed your father. What... What I didn't know was that you cried."

Tom buried his head against Harry's chest. "Can you still love me? Even after knowing what I am?"

Harry stroked the soft dark curls gently. "I don't think I could ever stop loving you..."

Tom looked at him with silver eyes and whispered: "Who are you, Harry? What strange and wonderful magic has brought you into my life? Where have you come from?"

Harry shook his head. "I can't tell you, Tom. Not yet. There are so many things I don't understand myself."

Tom got up and reached for his rumpled clothes. "It's almost morning, Harry. See, it's beginning to grow light out. You should go back to your dormitory; it won't do for everyone to know you spent the night here. But promise me you will come back, tonight and the next night and the next..."

Harry smiled and found his own clothes. They were in no better state than Tom's. "I promise, Tom."

Tom, dressed now, but looking far from decent with his mussed-up curls and disheveled clothes, rummaged through his desk. "Here, Harry. Before you go - I have a gift for you."

He held out something silver and put it into Harry's hand. It felt heavy and smooth and cold in his fingers. It was a silver locket, emblazoned with a jeweled serpent in the shape of an "S".

"Oh." Harry gazed at the locket, heart pounding.

"Do you... do you know what this is, Harry?"

Harry nodded. "Yes, I know, Tom. It is... your soul..."

...

Everyone was still sleeping when Harry came back to the Slytherin dormitory, even Abraxas. There were no windows down here in the dungeons to let the early morning sunlight in, so most of the boys slept until the bell rang. Harry stumbled into his bed, his heart and his mind racing. His bed. Tom's bed. He rested his head against the cool pillow, but no sleep came. He turned the silver locket over and over in his hand, trying to think. A horcrux. The real one, this time. I was supposed to find a horcrux, wasn't I?

All at once, he noticed that something felt slightly different about the crumpled shirt he was wearing. He glanced down at it, and realized that it wasn't his shirt at all; it was Tom's. He smiled to himself and rested his burning face against the cool metal of the silver locket.

I hope I will never wake up from this dream...


	9. Chapter 9

Red. The first thing Harry saw when he opened his eyes in the shimmering, hazy light of dawn was something red. It seemed strangely familiar, but for a moment he did not understand what it was. He reached out sleepily and touched the crimson that floated before his eyes. Soft. Like velvet. Almost like...

He sat up abruptly in bed and stared in horror at the red velvet curtains that surrounded his four-poster bed. His bed. His own bed in the Gryffindor dormitory.

No! This can't be real! Gryffindor Tower? Oh, please let this be a dream! Perhaps I am still sleeping under my silver sheets in the Slytherin dormitory, Tom's scent still lingering on my skin, dreaming of these scarlet curtains and this golden light?

No. The red velvet was all too real in his hands.

Tom! Oh, God, Tom!

Was he nothing but a dream? No, he can't have been a dream; I remember him so vividly, I remember his kisses against my skin, the way his hair felt under my fingers... His shirt! I remember noticing, just before I drifted off to sleep, that the shirt I was wearing was his...

Harry felt his shirt with trembling fingers. It was his own shirt, the one he had been wearing when he had entered Dumbledore's office, before he had looked into the Pensieve.

No! It can't have been a dream, it can't, it can't.

"Look, he's awake now. Are you feeling any better, mate?" Ron's familiar freckled face appeared in his vision.

"Ron?" Harry stared at him. Real... Ron looks much too real... No. No. No.

Ron shook his head slowly. "No, I think he's still ill. Merlin, what happened to you, Harry? We found you passed out in Dumbledore's office, in front of the Pensieve."

"The Pensieve-!" Harry stumbled out of bed. "I must go back to the Pensieve. There must be more to the memory, there must be away to go back..." He could hear the panic in his own voice now.

"Harry, you are ill. You need to stay in bed." Hermione's voice was gentle.

Hermione?

"What... What are you doing in the boys' dormitory, Hermione?" Harry looked at her, perplexed. Perhaps this is just a dream, after all? Why was she wearing that dark red silk dress? It looked like a nightdress. Her hair was even messier than usual, as if she had just woken up. She shouldn't be here. I shouldn't be here. I should be in the Slytherin dormitory, on a long-ago day in September. I will go to class with Alphard and Abraxas and Araminta, and in the evening, I will see Tom.

September? He glanced around the Gryffindor dormitory. So light; everything was so terribly light. The white sunlight of early morning was streaming through the tall arched windows, casting an almost unearthly sheen over the scarlet and gold beds. The windows were open, and the air smelled sweetly of spring.

Hermione's face was pink. "I spent he night here, Harry. With Ron. Oh, don't look so shocked; we are not children anymore. Luna's here too; she is sleeping over in Neville's bed, behind the curtains. The world is falling apart, Harry. No one cares much about the rules right now, not after Dumbledore died and Snape took off with the death eaters. McGonagall saw Ron and me walking up to the dormitory together last night, and she simply smiled and wished us a good night."

"Dumbledore..." Harry sank back on his bed. "He's still dead? Nothing has changed?"

"Oh, Harry." Hermione stroked his hair gently and sighed. "He is dead. Nothing can change that, unbearable as it is... We went to his funeral, remember?"

"Then Voldemort-? The horcruxes-?" Harry's mouth was dry. "Everything is as it was?"

Oh God. Tom. Tom became Voldemort?

"Afraid so, mate." Ron's voice was kind. "Although I'm having a hard time remembering when I wake up in the morning, too. I wake up thinking that this will be a nice ordinary day, and then suddenly I remember that Snape... killed Dumbledore. It seems impossible, doesn't it? I guess you were right about him all along. And about Draco, too."

"Draco?" whispered Harry. "Is he still here, or did he leave with the death eaters? I... I have something to ask him." I must know if his grandfather ever mentioned someone named Elias.

Hermione snorted. "Well, I have quite a few things to say to him, too, but he shoots curses at me whenever I try to talk to him. He left with Snape, but I saw him back in the castle last night, with Crabbe and Goyle. The teachers are too dumbstruck by everything that's happened to contact the Ministry and have him arrested... He's gathering up a few precious belongings, no doubt, and stealing a few books on dark magic out of the library. Madam Pince seems to have given up on protecting the Restricted Section; she just sits there in a daze as students walk by with all kinds of rare ancient volumes... Go right ahead and see if you can catch him before he leaves, Harry; I wouldn't mind seeing you give Malfoy a piece of your mind."

"No, I have to speak to him in private."

Hermione smiled. "All right. Just make sure you don't get hurt, Harry. Wait, what's that?"

She reached past Harry, for something that glittered by his pillow. Something silver...

"Oh, the fake horcrux. When did you take it out of my robes? I thought I had that, in my pocket..." She reached for her robes, which were carelessly slung over Ron's bed and pulled something silver out of the pocket.

For a moment, the three of them stared in silence at the two identical silver lockets.

"Oh." Hermione looked at Harry, her eyes wide with wonder. "But then... But then the locket you have must be the real horcrux..."

Harry picked the horcrux up in his hands and stroked it with a trembling finger. Tom... It was all real, after all! I am holding a piece of his soul in my hands...

He fastened the silver locket around his neck.

"Where did you get that? You went and found a horcrux overnight? That's amazing, even for you." There was admiration in Ron's glance now. "You really are something, you know that, Harry?"

"I... I found it inside a memory... In Dumbledore's office. I have to go back..."

"You found the horcrux inside a memory?" Hermione stared at him. "Yesterday, in Dumbledore's office? But how is that possible, Harry?"

Harry shook his head slowly. "I have no idea how it was possible. But it was... I have to find a way to get back."

"We are coming with you, Harry." There was a note of determination in Hermione's voice.

"No!" Harry felt panicked. "No, this is something I have to do alone. There is someone I have to meet..." I have to find Tom again. Oh, God, I have to find Tom!

"But we want to help you."

Harry couldn't help smiling at Hermione. You are a good friend, Hermione, although you would never have thought to give me sardines for bad memories... "If you really want to help me, perhaps you could look up a few things for me. Do a little research..."

"Yes, of course, Harry. Stop groaning, Ron; we'd be happy to go to the library."

"Love to," said Ron absently; he seemed momentarily distracted by the silky fabric of Hermione's nightdress.

"Perhaps you could find out more about someone named Elias Black. See if you can find out what happened to him."

"Elias Black?" Hermione frowned. "I have never heard about him. Does he have anything to do with horcruxes?"

Harry smiled. "Yes, I suppose you can say that. Elias Black was a horcrux. I am just wondering what... what happened to him."

"What? He was... Oh, Harry, are you sure? Can a human being be a horcrux? I have never heard of such a thing before. Fascinating... I'll see what I can find out, Harry. Anything else I can look up for you?"

"Well... Er..." Harry felt himself flush as he recalled Tom's frantic kisses against his skin. "Do you happen to know of any good books about spells to use for... What I mean is... Surely, there must be spells that people use when... You know, when two people..."

Hermione looked utterly confused. "What?"

Ron burst out laughing. "I never thought I'd say this, but you can be a little dense sometimes, Hermione. Harry is looking for..." He whispered something in Hermione's ear, and she blushed scarlet.

"Oh. That kind of spell. Why, yes, I think can find you a few useful ones."

"This had better not involve my sister," muttered Ron.

Hermione took Ron's hand and squeezed it. "Ginny? Well... If this is about Ginny, Harry, maybe you should pay a little more attention to her. I saw her holding hands with someone down by the lake yesterday, a boy who definitely wasn't you."

"Well, I'm actually looking for something that doesn't involve... girls... You know... If two boys were to..."

Hermione smiled slightly. "I see. Well, I had wondered... I'll see what I can do for you, Harry. Wait... It's not Malfoy, is it? Because if it is, I'm going to Obliviate that thought right out of your mind this instant."

"Draco Malfoy?" Harry felt an absurd desire to laugh. "No. Definitely not Draco." Although his grandfather was a good kisser.

"Told you it was Dean," said Ron cheerfully. "I can sense these things sometimes, Hermione, even if you won't believe me."

...

Harry found Draco in an empty classroom, stuffing rare books and stolen potions ingredients frantically into a bag that looked much too small to hold them all.

Harry leaned against the doorway. "Can I help you with that? I think there are spells you can use to fit all those things in, but I don't know them. Hermione might, though."

Draco threw a fanged leather-bound volume at Harry's head and went on packing. "Get lost, Potter."

"I wondered if I could have a word with you, Draco."

Draco sighed. "No, you damn well can't. Leave me alone, or I'll use this Dark Mark on my arm to summon the Dark Lord here right now. I'll find a way to let him in through the defenses, just you see."

"All right." Harry felt his heart bearing faster. I wonder if the Dark Lord would remember...?

Draco glanced up. "All right? All right what? You don't think I'd do it, Potter? You don't think I'd deliver you into his hands?" He sneered and brushed a stray lock of white-gold hair out of his eyes. "Merlin! Why are you smiling at me like that?"

"You just reminded me of someone for a moment... Listen, Draco. I was wondering if you would do me a favor?"

"A favor." Draco looked at him with cold, grey eyes. "Right. Any time, Potter."

"I was wondering if you could give Voldemort a message from me."

"Oh, Merlin." Draco looked at him with an expression of distaste. "What sort of message would that be, Potter? Something heroic and melodramatic, no doubt. Beware of the Boy Who Lived? Tremble Before the Chosen One? I will smite you in the end? What?"

Harry swallowed. "Just tell him..." Just tell him what? That I am his soul? That my skin still remembers his skin? "Just tell him that... that he's got the wrong shirt, all right?"

"The wrong shirt?" Draco stared at him. "You want me to tell the Dark Lord that he's got the wrong shirt?"

Harry nodded, wordlessly.

Draco sighed deeply and shoved his books aside. "You've finally lost it, haven't you, Potter? Can't say I blame you, really. All the stuff that's been happening... It's enough to drive anyone crazy. Even the Chosen One."

"Draco? Can I ask you something?"

"No."

"Your grandfather, Abraxas Malfoy... Did he ever mention someone named Elias?"

"Elias?" There was a hint of curiosity now in Draco's frosty grey glance. "How do you know about Elias? Who was he anyway?"

"That's what I'm trying to find out."

Draco shook his head slowly. "Well, let me know if you do. My grandfather, who was a great wizard, died of dragon pox a few years back. He was getting very feverish towards the end, and his ramblings were mostly quite incomprehensible. But in the end, his mutterings were reduced to a single word, a name he whispered urgently again and again: Elias. It's a bit of a mystery; nobody in the family had ever heard of someone by that name. If you have any clues as to his identity, please tell me."

Harry swallowed. "I think his name was Elias Black. Some people say he was the illegitimate son or grandson of Phineas Nigellus Black. That's all I know. Did Abraxas... Did your grandfather say anything else about Elias? Did he mention what happened to him?"

"Elias Black?" Draco smiled slightly. "Yes, that makes sense; our family has long had connections with the ancient and noble house of Black... No, my grandfather said nothing else about Elias, just his name. But then, right before he died, he sort of lit up suddenly and whispered: "Oh, well. There was always John..." That's all I know."

Harry blinked. John? Not John Lupin, surely? John Lupin and Abraxas Malfoy? No, that can't be possible. Can it?

"Draco?"

"You still there, Potter?"

"What is your grandmother's name?"

Draco forced a screaming vellum-covered volume into the bag. "Mrs. Malfoy."

"No, I mean her first name..."

The cold, grey eyes regarded Harry with suspicion. "Acacia. What's it to you?"

"Acacia? Really?" Tom's first kiss... She was in Ravenclaw, and she was a clumsy kisser. I suppose Abraxas would have taught her a thing or two, though...

"All right, what's with your sudden obsession with the Malfoy family? Wait, you are not obsessed with me or anything, are you, Potter?" Draco's white-blond hair fell over his face. For a moment, he looked like Abraxas.

Harry smiled. "I don't think I'm the one who's obsessed with you, Malfoy." He didn't really know what made him say that, except that Draco looked so very much like Abraxas.

Draco stared at him for a moment, wide-eyed. Then he bent down over his bag again, his face scarlet. He muttered something that Harry couldn't quite hear; it sounded like "...going to kill Goyle..."

...

Outside in the hallway, Harry ran into Slughorn, whose pockets were bulging with strange little flasks. The plump old potions master was a little out of breath, as if he had been running.

"Just... safeguarding some of the rarer potions ingredients from the school storage, Harry. Won't do to let the death eaters get their hands on these things, you know."

"Of course, Professor."

How much older Slughorn looked than when Harry had last seen him! He had gained both weight and pompousness over the years.

"Can I ask you something, Professor?"

Slughorn sighed. "Yes, of course, my boy. Here, give me a hand with these, will you? I think I should bring them to my rooms for safekeeping..."

Harry carried the little bottles gingerly in Slughorn's wake. "I was wondering if you recall a certain person... He was a student of yours at one time, I believe..."

"Ah, yes." Slughorn smiled a little now. "I have had a great many interesting students through the years, Harry, and I pride myself on remembering most of them."

"What about Elias Black, sir?"

One of the bottles Slughorn was carrying fell to the flagged stone floor with a crash. A shimmering silver liquid formed a glittering pool amid the broken shards on the stone floor.

"Oh, let me get that, Harry. Here, hold these other ones for a moment, will you, while I clean up? Scourgify. Now, you were saying, Harry-?"

"Elias Black, sir."

"Elias Black." Slughorn's face showed no emotion whatsoever. "No, I can't say I have ever heard about him. Where did you come across his name, Harry? Is this someone from long ago?"

"I believe he was here in 1945, sir. He was sorted into Slytherin. It was a few months after Dumbledore's famous duel with Grindelwald."

"Ah, of course. 1945. Yes." Slughorn began walking again, so fast that Harry struggled to keep up. "I do have an excellent memory, Harry, but you can't expect me to recall every little detail from half a century ago. Black, you said? I recall several Blacks, of course: Alphard Black, Cygnus Black, their cousin Orion. But I don't seem to remember... Elias, did you say?"

"Yes. Elias Black. Do you happen to recall anything else from that autumn, sir, following Dumbledore's defeat of Grindelwald? Do you remember anything else that happened during the Autumn term of 1945? Anything at all?"

Slughorn sighed. "Oh, it's all so long ago, Harry. The autumn of 1945? That was the semester Tom Riddle taught at Hogwarts, wasn't it?"

"What?" Harry stared at Slughorn. "Tom Riddle... taught at Hogwarts?"

But that only happened inside the memory I visited, didn't it? In reality, he applied for the post, and Armando Dippet turned him down.

Slughorn looked at him, wonderingly. "Of course Tom Riddle taught at Hogwarts, Harry. Have you been sleeping through your History of Magic lessons? Every child knows that the Dark Lord taught Defense Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts for one semester, before he disappeared to immerse himself in the Dark Arts. I am disappointed in you, Harry - how can the Chosen One not know the most fundamental facts about the Dark Lord he is to defeat? That won't do, my boy, that won't do at all."


	10. Chapter 10

Harry pushed the familiar door to the headmaster's office open with trembling hands. The hideous gargoyle that guarded the door hadn't even bothered to ask him for a password this time; it just gave him a stony, downcast look and sighed as he walked past it.

The Pensieve stood there as before, grey and ancient. Harry scanned the small glass bottles on the shelf above it eagerly. Silver strands of memories glittered and swirled within. There must be more to the memory I visited. I need to find my way back into the memory... AD&GG, AD&GG, AD&AD, AD&AD, TR, TR, TR... But there was no vial marked TR &HP.

Harry stared at the little gleaming glass vials in dismay. How is this possible? The memory I got trapped in before isn't even here any longer. It is as if the memory itself never existed, as if it was nothing but a dream.

He read the labels, again and again, desperately hoping to see the lost memory somewhere. No. Nothing. Oh, Tom, where are you? How will I ever find you again?

He reached out for one of the little vials marked "TR" and poured the contents into the Pensieve. I don't care which memory this is. I have to see you, one way or another. The glittering swirls dissolved into the luminous waters of the Pensieve, and Harry plunged himself into the silvery mist.

The next moment, Slughorn and Tom Riddle appeared before him. Tom was dressed in school robes, and he was gazing at Slughorn with his quicksilver eyes: "What about... horcruxes, sir?"

Harry drew his breath sharply. He knew this memory of course; he had already been inside this recollection in the past. He didn't listen to the conversation between the potions master and the young Tom Riddle this time; he merely gazed at Tom. How beautiful he is... Harry reached out and tried to stroke Tom's dark curls, but there was nothing there to touch.

Tom! Turn around and look at me! I'm here!

But the memory of Tom could not hear him; the handsome schoolboy merely held the potions master's gaze with his own until a slight flush began to spread over Slughorn's cheeks. Slowly, like a man enchanted, the potions master began to speak of horcruxes.

Tom! Why can't you see me? Why do you keep dissolving under my touch? Harry reached for him frantically, but there was nothing but air.

The memory came to an end, and Harry found himself back in Dumbledore's office. He sank down on the floor, trembling. Where did you go, Tom? How do I find the memory of you and me again?

He read the labels on the glass vials yet again. It must be here somewhere? No. There is no recollection of you and me. Nobody remembers us...

But then Harry noticed that a few of the vials were still empty, and a curious idea began to form in his mind. Perhaps that's not true. Someone does remember you and me, after all.

He pulled his wand out and raised it to his head. How do I do this? Perhaps like this... He closed his eyes and let the memories of Tom flood his mind. The sound of your voice, the scent of your skin, the sunlight over the moor... All at once, he felt a strange trembling sensation in his wand, and as he opened his eyes, he saw a delicate pearly mist hover about his wand. My memory. My memory of Tom Riddle. Gently, Harry lowered his wand into one of the empty vials. When he withdrew the wand, the glittering swirl stayed inside the little bottle. He found a small stopper on the shelf and closed the bottle.

Harry stared, mesmerized, at the swirling memory in the vial. I wondered , when I visited the past, whose memory it was that I entered. I never realized that it was mine... Perhaps I should have known? Who else could have remembered you and me? But is this the enchanted memory I visited, where everything was so wonderfully real? Or is what I see in this bottle now merely an echo of the real thing, made up of mist and memories, like all these other recollections?

Harry held the bottle in his hand for a moment and caressed the smooth glass. I wonder if I can find you inside this memory? If I were to enter my own recollection, would I find the real you inside it?He unstoppered the bottle with trembling hands and poured the memory back into the Pensieve. Then he plunged himself into the whirling waters and held his breath as the world around him dissolved.

The next moment, he was back in the headmaster's office of the past. Armando Dippet was sitting behind the massive oak desk now, speaking to a boy with black hair: "So you are..." He consulted a piece of parchment on the desk in front of him. "Elias Black. Welcome to Hogwarts, my boy. We are glad to have you with us."

Harry stared at the dark-haired boy who was sitting in front of the headmaster. That's me! I mean Elias... He is touching his hand to his forehead now, searching for that familiar scar... How bewildered he looks, as if he doubts that what he is experiencing is real.

Harry watched as the dazed "Elias Black" was sorted, and he saw what his memory self did not see: The young man with dark curls who walked in through the door. Tom! Oh, God, why aren't I looking up? There. Now I'm sorted into Slytherin, and I'm raising my eyes and seeing you... How you look at me, Tom!

Now we are walking out of the headmaster's office together. You are gazing at me with wonder, Tom, touching my scar... If only I could feel your hand against my forehead! Harry reached out, desperately, for Tom's hand, but there was nothing there. There is just the memory of you, touching the memory of me... I can see you so clearly, and yet you are nothing but a dream, a hazy memory...

Harry followed the memory of the boy who went by the name of Elias Black through the corridors of Hogwarts, into the Slytherin common room, where he was greeted by his new friends, into the green-hued dormitory, and onto the Hogwarts grounds. He stood silently by and listened as the dark-haired boy spoke to Dumbledore; he followed him to the dinner table in the Great Hall, back to the dormitory, and into his dreams the moment his eyes closed. When the boy who was called Elias was dreaming, the rest of the memory dissolved, and Harry stood still and breathless as the darkness and silver winds of Elias' dream whirled around him.

Harry trailed the memory of Elias through the few days he had been at Hogwarts; he walked behind him into Hogsmeade with Orion; he stood next to the cloaked and invisible Elias and Orion at Madam Puddifoot's, suddenly more than invisible himself. He strolled behind the memory of Elias and the memory of Tom over the moor in the golden sunshine; the edges of their robes got caught in the heather, but his own robes passed unhindered over the ground. Perhaps this is what it feels like to be a ghost... He reached out and tried to touch Tom again and again, but his trembling hand found nothing at all.

Harry laughed as he watched the memory of Elias try to kiss Araminta; it really did look terribly clumsy. He shook his head and smiled a little as Abraxas pressed a kiss against the lips of the recollection of Elias, and he watched, with a beating heart, the frozen expression on Tom's face as he caught sight of them. He saw Tom and Elias walk together through the hallway, and he watched them enter Tom's office together. His heart began to beat wildly as Tom stepped hesitantly closer to the bewildered dark-haired boy. He is kissing me now. Tom is kissing me... Oh, the torment and the sweetness of seeing him kissing me so tenderly, and not being able to feel it! Tom! I'm here!

But Tom could not hear him, and neither could Elias; they fell to the floor together, overcome with passion, and Harry watched them, flushed and breathless. He watched them lying in each other's arms as the night gradually turned to dawn, and he saw, witch a heavy heart, that Elias got up to leave. That's not your shirt, Elias; that's Tom's shirt you are putting on. But the recollection of Elias was in a daze; his glance lingered on Tom's face, and he paid no attention at all to what he was doing. The gift of a horcrux, a final kiss, and then the ephemeral Elias Black left Tom Riddle. Harry walked behind him to the Slytherin dormitory and watched him until he fell asleep.

The moment Elias Black's eyes closed, Harry felt himself being jerked back into the headmaster's office, into his own time. For a moment, he stared at the silvery mist that still floated in the Pensieve. Is that all you are, Tom, a glittering memory? Then Harry took his wand and lifted the memory carefully out of the vessel and into the vial it had come from. He found a blank label and a quill, and marked the little bottle "TR&HP". He put it on the shelf next to the others, right where it had been before. Then he sank down on the floor and wept.

...

A hand touched his shoulder gently.

"Are you all right, Mr. Potter?"

Harry looked up and saw the plain, familiar face of Minerva McGonagall. He managed a little smile. "Hello, Professor."

She patted his head clumsily, as if it were the first time in her life she had attempted such a thing. "There, there, Harry. I know that things have been rough lately, but it won't do to fall apart. The headmaster would have wished for you to be strong." Her voice quavered a little.

McGonagall's glance fell on the open cabinet that housed the Pensieve. "Visiting the past, Mr. Potter?" Something glittered in her eyes for a moment. Tears? Surely Professor McGonagall is not crying?

"I suppose that's only natural... We all wish to remember that which was. But now you should get up, Mr. Potter. It is time for us all to think about the future. There are dark times ahead, but you have many friends who will stand with you against the dark, Mr. Potter. Myself included."

Harry scrambled to his feet. "Thank you, Professor." He stood for a moment, uncertain, and gazed at the kind face he knew so well.

"Can I ask you something, Professor?"

"Yes, of course, Mr. Potter. Anything."

Harry took a deep breath. "Did you... did you ever work for the Ministry of Magic? Before you became a Hogwarts professor, I mean?"

She smiled then. "Indeed I did. But after some years of paperwork, politics, and intrigue, I realized that I much preferred teaching magic to regulating it. And Merlin, the reports! The endless reports..."

"Do you remember attending a party here at Hogwarts when you were working for the Ministry? One of Slughorn's soirees? It was a very elegant affair, with dozens of people, and there was moonflower punch."

"Moonflower punch?" McGonagall smiled slightly. "I haven't tasted moonflower punch in years. It was all the rage in my youth, but then it fell out of fashion for some reason."

"Do you remember a party where Abraxas Malfoy had too much moonflower punch and had to be escorted from the room?"

"Abraxas Malfoy?" McGonagall thought for a moment. "You know, Mr. Potter, I do think I remember that! Merlin, it's been so long since I had thought of Abraxas Malfoy, I had almost forgotten his name. But that was what he was called, Draco's grandfather, I remember now. What a rogue he was! Not in the same way as his grandson, mind you; I don't recall Abraxas ever being spiteful or malevolent. He was just... well, a little wild at times." Her mouth quivered in a little smile.

"Do you..." Harry could feel his own heartbeat now. "Do you remember another boy at that party? A Slytherin student called Elias Black? He was a new student that year, and Slughorn introduced him to you. He was the one who helped Tom Riddle get Abraxas Malfoy off to bed."

"Elias Black?" McGonagall was silent for a moment, lost in thought. Then she said hesitantly: "You know, I think I might remember him, now that you mention it. I think I only met him that one time, fifty years ago. But now that you said his name, I seem to remember something... He had dark hair, didn't he? And a scar of some sort?"

"Yes." Harry tried to keep his voice steady. "Yes, that's him. Do you know what happened to him?"

Minerva McGonagall shook her head. "I'm afraid I have no idea, Mr. Potter. This was all so long ago, you see." Her earnest brown eyes scrutinized Harry's face for a moment. "You know, I seem to recall that he looked a little like you. Or perhaps I just think he did, now, all these years later, because he had a scar as well. I can't really tell..."

Harry swallowed. "What about Tom Riddle, Professor? He taught at Hogwarts in the autumn of 1945, didn't he?"

McGonagall nodded curtly. "I'm afraid so, Mr. Potter. He was still quite young then, you see, and no one was able to tell at that point what he was destined to become."

Destined?

"Did...did anything happen to Tom Riddle that autumn?"

McGonagall frowned a little. "Happen? Not that I know of. He taught Defense Against the Dark Arts for a few months, and then he went off, Merlin only knows where, and began to immerse himself in the Dark Arts. And little by little, he became less than human... Now, if you will excuse me, Mr. Potter, I need to get this office in order."

She smiled at the sight of Harry's bewildered glance. "This is my office now, Mr. Potter. I am the new Headmistress of Hogwarts, remember?"

"Yes, of course. I'm sorry, Professor. I shouldn't have been in your office without permission. I... forgot, you see. I thought this was still Dumbledore's office."

"Yes. Yes, I suppose you did." McGonagall's glance was surprisingly kind. "Sometimes it takes us a little while to adjust to a new and harsh reality, Mr. Potter."

...

That night, as so often before, Harry fell asleep in his fourposter bed in Gryffindor Tower and dreamed of Voldemort. In his dream, he was walking into the Shrieking Shack at night. The old half-rotted floorboards creaked under his feet, and the moonlight that streamed in through one of the cracked windows shrouded the empty room in silver. He recognized the cavernous chamber; this was where he had first met his godfather, Sirius Black. How strangely reality shifted that night! The man I thought had betrayed my parents became my friend, and Ron's rat confessed to selling its friends to the Dark Lord. Someone was waiting for him in that room now, a dark hooded figure in the shadows.

"Tom?" Harry's whisper sounded eerie in the large empty space. "Did Draco give you my message, then? Do you remember me, Tom? Do you remember walking over the heather together? Do you remember that I told you that my name was not Elias, but Harry? Do you remember telling me how you killed your father? Do you remember my lips, as I remember yours?"

There was no answer.

"Tom? Do you remember me?"

"What do you want?" Harry couldn't tell if the voice came from the dark figure in the corner, of from inside his own mind.

"I want you..." Harry breathed. "You, Tom. I never meant to leave you. I got lost in a strange time, in a different reality. I tried to find you..."

The dark figure stepped out into the moonlight. Voldemort. The terrifying, serpentine features of the Dark Lord... There is no trace of humanity left in his eyes now.

"You have tried to find me, Harry Potter?" His voice was soft, like a breath of wind. "Do you not know that I will kill you?"

Harry trembled. "I know you will. Perhaps there is no other way. But I had to see you first, Tom. I love you..."

"You love me?" The silky voice sent an icy shiver down Harry's spine. "You love the Dark Lord, Harry Potter?"

Harry nodded silently, and the monstrous figure stepped closer. Harry shivered as a pale hand brushed, almost imperceptibly, through his hair.

"Your hair..." Voldemort's voice was only half-familiar. "How soft it is to the touch! How strange... I have sometimes thought to myself that I would like to touch you hair. You have grown quite... beautiful... these past few years, since we first met. But I shall kill you all the same, Harry Potter. The Dark Lord knows no mercy. But perhaps..." The hand touched his cheek now, ever so lightly - "perhaps I shall kill you with a kiss..."

Harry's eyes flew open in the darkness, and he sat up in bed, bewildered. Was that you, Tom, or was that just a dream? He searched for the silver locked under his pillow. Its coldness felt comforting in his hands. Real... At least the locket is real...


	11. Chapter 11

Harry sat under a large, shady oak tree and looked out over the glittering Hogwarts lake. The spring day was growing warm now, and the sweet fragrance of lilac and flowering hawthorn wafted through the air. A profusion of golden berberis and marsh marigolds grew by the water, and the scents were making him a little dizzy.

The headmaster of Hogwarts is dead, the potions master became a murderer last week, the wizarding world is crumbling, and yet it makes no difference to these spring flowers; they would bloom the same even if Voldemort and his death eaters were to kill us all. Inside the castle, everything is chaos; the professors have given up on teaching and on enforcing rules. But out here by the lake, everything is the same as it has always been. Here, under this tree in spring, the world seems to be as it should be. I can almost imagine a boy with dark curls and silver eyes sitting next to me... I wonder if Tom ever sat under this tree on a spring day like this? Does Voldemort still remember the scents of spring?

Even the evergreen holly was in bloom now; tiny white flowers glistened among the dark-green leaves. Harry twirled his wand slowly between his fingers as he sat thinking. My wand was once a branch from a holly tree. How different it is now! My wand is powerful, but yet so lifeless compared to the blooming branches of the living tree! And Voldemort was once just Tom Riddle, before his transformation began. I wonder if my magic wand remembers being alive. I wonder if Dark Lord remembers that he loved me once?

Oh, Tom, how will I ever find you again? If only I could find a way to go back, to the time when you were still just Tom. If only I had Hermione's time turner!

Harry saw two figures down by the lake now, a boy and a girl. From here, the girl looked like Ginny, but he couldn't tell who the boy was. They were walking close together, much closer than friends ever would. Harry smiled to himself. Perhaps Ginny had fallen in love... He remembered that he once thought that he was in love with Ginny, but it seemed to him now little more than a sweet and fragile daydream. They had played at being in love; they had kissed each other and gazed into each others' eyes, and they had imagined that love was no more than that.

In the distance, he could see the red-haired girl kissing the boy down by the lake. The boy was tall and lanky and curiously familiar, but Harry could not place him. Harry scrambled to his feet and walked slowly towards the school; it appeared that Ginny and her friend were in need of some privacy.

...

Several students were packing their belongings now. Neville's open trunk was filled with tangled stems, quivering leaves and snapping flowers; it looked like a dire floral arrangement put together by Peeves. A dainty blue-green orchid was biting little holes in Neville's school robes, while a plant with delicate green tendrils was inflicting some considerable damage on his broomstick.

Harry sifted carelessly through the contents of his own school trunk. School books, potions ingredients, clothes, quills... What use were any of these things? Where was he supposed to travel when school ended - Little Whinging? The silver locket, his wand, and his invisibility cloak - those were the only things he needed.

Hermione was in the boys' dormitory as well, rearranging Ron's belongings neatly in his trunk, discarding his used chocolate frog wrappers, and slipping a few ancient leather-bound books that looked suspiciously like volumes from the Restricted Section in between his robes. Ron himself was nowhere to be seen.

Hermione smiled at Harry. "Here. I've got something for you. It's the spell you wanted."

They both flushed a little as she handed him a small piece of parchment. Harry read it silently and slipped it into his pocket.

"Thanks."

"Harry? Are you going to tell me who-?"

Harry shook his head and rearranged the mess inside his trunk clumsily so that it ended up looking even worse. "Maybe... Maybe later..."

"Need some help with packing?"

"No, thanks. I don't really care... Say, Hermione? Do you know what happened to the...er... necklace you wore back in our third year?"

"My necklace? Oh, you mean my... timepiece?" She smiled at him. "I'm afraid it's gone, Harry. I had to turn it in, you see, at the end of the year." She added softly: "And I'm afraid there are no other ones like it anymore."

Harry nodded; he remembered well how the other time turners had smashed during the battle at the Ministry of Magic. Broken. Small shards of broken time, scattered over the floor.

He swallowed. "Hermione? I have to go back. Is there any other way to go... back?"

"Oh, Harry." There was pity in her glance now. "Don't you realize that I have thought about that over and over again ever since Dumbledore died? I thought about it even before that, too, after Sirius disappeared behind the veil. I have turned the idea over and over in my head, done hours and hours of research. Is there a way to go back? Oh, I wish there was a way, Harry, but I'm afraid I don't know of any."

"What about memories?" Harry whispered. "The Pensieve makes it possible to see a glimpse of the past; would it be possible to enchant a memory so that it becomes real? Could a person enter a memory and change the past?"

He held his breath as Hermione sat down on Ron's unmade bed and pondered the question. Finally, she shook her head. "I don't know, Harry. What a strange idea! It would take extraordinary magic to do something like that. Perhaps a very powerful wizard, like Dumbledore or You-Know-Who could have done it; I don't know. If a time-turner were to be immersed in a vial that holds a memory, and a Transfiguration spell is spoken..." She broke off and stared at Harry. "What's wrong, Harry? You usually correct me when I say "You-Know-Who" and tell me to use the name v-Vol..." She struggled. "Voldemort. You always insist that we use his real name."

Harry shrugged. "I don't care any more, Hermione. Perhaps Voldemort is no more his real name than You-Know-Who."

Neville slammed the lid shut on his wriggling trunk and beamed triumphantly. "Hah! Got it! Oh, that's right, Harry, I've got a message for you. It came by owl a little while back, but I couldn't find you. It's from Draco Malfoy. He left school yesterday, along with Crabbe and Goyle."

"From Draco?" Harry reached out for the sealed letter and opened it with trembling hands.

Potter, the letter read,

I gave the Dark Lord your very strange message. He has no idea what you are talking about. Just a bit of friendly advice: Don't contact him again if you value your life.

DM

"Harry?" Hermione put her hand on his arm. "What's wrong? You are as white as snow."

"Nothing." Harry found it hard to speak; his voice didn't seem to be working properly. He tore the letter slowly into tiny pieces.

...

Harry escaped out to the Hogwarts grounds, taking deep breaths of the sweet spring air. Oh, Tom! Why don't you remember me? I need to go back and find the person you once were, but I don't know how... He sank down under a tree and closed his eyes. He could feel tears streaming down his face now, but he couldn't do anything to stop them. Footsteps. He kept his eyes closed, hoping that the person would walk on, but the footsteps stopped right in front of him.

Yes, the Boy Who Lived is sitting under a tree weeping. Please go away now. If you need someone to save the world, you need to look elsewhere.

Someone cleared their throat, awkwardly.

Go away. I'm not the Chosen One. Perhaps you listened to false prophets, who proclaimed that Harry Potter is some sort of savior, destined to face the Dark Lord. "Neither can live while the other survives"? What your prophet doesn't know is that I can't live without the Dark Lord, even though he no longer remembers our kisses.

"Elias?"

Oh, why can't you leave me alone...Elias? Harry's eyes flew open. He stared, perplexed, at the tall, lanky dark-haired boy who stood before him. But that's... that's... Alphard Black?

He gazed up at the grave, familiar face of the Slytherin boy from the past. Alphard? How can he be here, in this time?

Alphard smiled apologetically. "I'm sorry, Elias, this must be terribly unexpected. But I was trying to find you, you see. Tom was looking for you."

"Tom... was looking for me?" Harry whispered. Suddenly, it felt as if all the sweetness of the spring day had found its way into his heart.

Alphard nodded and sat down in the grass next to Harry. "Well, "tearing the castle apart stone from stone" might be a more apt description. Tom has been desperate to find out what happened to you after you disappeared so suddenly. He seems to think that you may have been murdered by some dark wizard, the same one who killed your parents. And... well, Professor Dumbledore suggested to me that I might look for you here. "

"But how can you be here?" Harry looked at Alphard, his fellow Slytherin from the past, and he felt his mind whirling.

"Oh." A slight smile. "I do a little traveling now and then." Alphard pulled something out from under his shirt, a delicate golden instrument on a chain.

"You've got a time-turner? Oh..." Harry suddenly recalled that Orion had said something about Alphard's frequent visits to Dervish and Banges.

"Indeed I do. I have used it quite a bit, but I only end up making things worse."

"Worse? Worse than what?"

Alphard sighed. "Oh, it's a long story Elias. When I first started traveling into the future, it seemed wonderful; it was such a glorious adventure. But then I traveled far enough that I saw some of terrible things that were to happen: The rise of Voldemort. His death eaters. Innocent Muggles being killed. And Regulus, sweet innocent Regulus, my future nephew, seduced by the Dark forces. I never had any children of my own, you see, so Regulus and Sirius were like sons to me. Regulus was only sixteen years old when he became a death eater, Elias. He was blinded by the Dark Lord's power, and by his promises of a great pure-blood society. In the beginning, Regulus worshipped Voldemort, like the rest of them. But slowly, gradually, he began to realize what he had gotten himself into, but by then it was too late. He died, killed by the Dark Lord before he even had a chance to live!

I have traveled back and forth in time; I have tried again and again to make things different, to save his life, but I have failed every time. No matter what I did, I was not able to save Regulus. And then, when I traveled even further into the future, I saw that Sirius, too, would lose his life to one of Voldemort's death eaters, his own cousin Bellatrix. I think it was then that I realized that if I wanted to save them, I would have to go back to the very beginning. If I could somehow stop Tom Riddle from even becoming the Dark Lord, I could prevent my poor innocent Regulus for falling for his dark, sweet words; I could prevent Sirius from falling through the veil. Perhaps I could kill Tom Riddle before he had a chance to become the Dark Lord?

But it's not at all easy to kill, Elias, as I'm sure you know. But then I thought of something. It was so beautifully simple: I knew that Tom Riddle once applied for a post at Hogwarts. Professor Dippet turned him down, of course, but what if he hadn't? What if Tom Riddle were given a chance at an ordinary life? Would he turn out differently? Could his thirst for power be channeled into something else, a brilliant career and an elevated position in society? It was worth a try. I spoke to Dumbledore; I suggested to him that it might be better for Tom if he were given a chance to prove himself as a professor. Dumbledore listened, and eventually he agreed with me. He spoke to Dippet about it, and Tom Riddle was indeed hired as Defense Against the Dark Arts professor at Hogwarts."

Alphard smiled wryly. "Have you ever heard the old saying that awful things happen to wizards who meddle with time, Elias?"

"Er... yes."

"Well, my plan succeeded only too well. Tom Riddle was very pleased indeed with his new position, and he was determined to become a respected member of wizarding society. He even decided to marry. My sister! That was not part of my plan at all, of course; if he married my sister, Sirius and Regulus would never even be born."

Alphard breathed deeply. "But then, miraculously, Walburga broke off her engagement with Tom and began seeing Orion. I have no idea how that happened. Did you have anything to do with that?"

Harry flushed a little. "Perhaps a little bit, yes." He reached out and touched the golden instrument that hung around Alphard's neck. "Tom... I need to see him, Alphard. Can you bring me back with you?"

Alphard grinned now. "Absolutely. I was going to bring you back by force if necessary. Tom is going to turn into something much worse than Voldemort if he doesn't find you again soon. I told him I had an idea where to find you."

Harry smiled. He could feel his heart thundering in his chest. "How did you find me here, anyway? How did you know I was from the future? How did you know what time to find me in?"

"Oh..." Alphard got up. "Professor Dumbledore was the one who suggested it to me. Apparently, the two of you had a conversation that led him to believe, when he thought back on it later, that around here and now would be a good time and place to find you. Oh, and he was asking if you could bring him back a chocolate frog card with him on it. He's dying to see one."

Harry laughed. "All right. I'll run back inside and get one. See you back here in a minute."

Alphard smiled, a distant expression in his eyes. "Better make that fifteen minutes, Elias. There is someone I want to say goodbye to first."

Harry followed his glance down to the distant lake, where a red-haired figure stood waiting. "Ginny? Wait, were you the boy down by the lake? But when...? How...?"

Alphard's cheeks flushed a little. "I only met her two days ago. I came here to look for you, of course, but then I saw this beautiful girl sitting by the lake crying, and then we began to talk... She is a rather extraordinary person, you know. I know that she's only fifteen, and I'm... a great deal older? Or seventeen? I can't quite figure that part out."

"I know the feeling." Harry couldn't help smiling.

"You are not mad at me then?" Alphard was glancing at him now. "I know that she was your girlfriend, but she said that you had begun to drift apart..."

Harry laughed. "I suppose you could say that, yes. I'm glad Ginny is happy, Alphard. I don't think she could find anyone better than you. Wait... did you say you arrived here two days ago? Why did it take you so long to find me?"

Alphard blushed. "Well, Elias... The thing is..." His glance drifted towards Ginny. Her hair was a flame in the spring sunlight. "Sometimes it's hard to keep track of time."

...

Alphard spun the delicate golden clockwork, and the world dissolved into a whirlwind of light and color and sound. Harry squeezed his eyes shut as the world around him became a meaningless blur of hours, days, months, years.

The next instant, Harry and Alphard landed on the Hogwarts grounds with a thud. Even before he opened his eyes, Harry could sense a whisper of chill in the air and the slightly musty smell of rotting leaves and rich earth. Autumn. It smells like autumn. He opened his eyes. It was still afternoon, but the afternoon light had a different quality to it now; it was no longer the gossamer blue-white brightness of spring, but the rich golden light of September. Harry breathed in the cool September air with delight. I'm back!

Alphard lifted the golden chain from their necks. "Here we are, Elias. Welcome back. Er.. If I were you, I would take off those Gryffindor robes before entering the castle. There will be a lot of questions if you walk around the corridors looking like that."

"Oh." Harry looked down himself and smiled. He pulled his robes off and handed them to Alphard. "Would you mind? I... I need to see Tom."

"Of course." Alphard nodded gravely. "You and Tom, are you...? Oh, never mind. I don't suppose it's any of my concern."

"Thank you," whispered Harry hurriedly and ran towards the castle. He dashed wildly through the front door and along the familiar corridors, colliding hard with a few students along the way. He heard gasps and whispers as he ran, but he did not look back.

When he arrived, breathlessly, at Tom's office door, he paused, suddenly hesitant. Will Tom still be exactly as I left him? Will he still remember me? What if he is not there?

He opened the door slowly. His breath caught in his chest as he caught sight of the familiar figure within. Tom was sitting slumped in one of the chairs by the fire, a crumpled shirt in his hands. The fire was unlit, and the room felt cold. Tom glanced up, half-distracted, as Harry stepped into the room.

"Tom?" Harry whispered. "Tom? I'm back..."


	12. Chapter 12

For a moment, Tom sat frozen. One instant, his face was ghostly white, but in the next, a flush crept over his pale cheeks. It seemed to Harry that Tom had changed a little; there were dark shadows under his eyes now, his glance was burning as if with some strange fever, and there was a slight hollowness about his cheeks. And yet he was beautiful, so excruciatingly beautiful that Harry felt an odd stab to his heart, a melancholy sweetness almost bordering on pain.

Human. He looks human. Not Voldemort, but Tom. My Tom.

A trembling gasp, and then Tom leaped to his feet. Harry felt himself being pulled into the room and clutched in an embrace so tight he could hardly breathe. The door slammed shut behind them.

"Oh, Merlin! You are still alive! Where have you been?"

Tom kissed Harry feverishly, his face, his lips, his throat, every bit of skin his mouth could find, and he whispered against Harry's lips: "You are here. You are real, after all. I was beginning to think that you had been nothing but a dream. You.. You..." The rest of his words drowned in kisses.

Harry returned the kisses frantically. I went to the future and back. But I think it was only a dream. This. This is real. Your lips against mine, your breath against my skin.

Past. Future. Imaginary constellations we have drawn on the starry swirl of time. There is no past or future, there is no truth but the beating of our hearts. There is only you and me. Here. Now.

"You smell like spring," muttered Tom against his cheek. "Like warm grass and lilacs. Merlin, where have you been? In some distant land where lilacs blooms in September? But your skin is cold. You must have come from outside right now. Why weren't you wearing your robes? It's getting chilly out, and your shirt is thin. Here, let me..."

Tom flicked his wand at the marble fireplace, and blazing flames sprang to life in the cold grate, slowly spreading their warmth and brightness through the cheerless grey chill of the room. They huddled together on the carpet in front of the fire, arms wrapped tightly around each other.

Tom stroked the fabric of Harry's shirt and whispered: "I can't believe you are finally back... Did you know that you got the wrong shirt before? What-? Why are you laughing?"

"Oh..." Harry ran his fingers through Tom's soft curls and closed his eyes. "I didn't know if you would remember. About the shirt. About me."

"You didn't know if I would remember? How could I ever forget?"

I don't know, Tom. I don't know. But you did.

"Where have you been these past two weeks, Harry?"

"Two weeks?" Harry stared at Tom. "I've been gone for two weeks?"

"You didn't know?" Tom stroked his hair, a puzzled expression on his face. "What happened to you? I thought I'd lost you forever. I thought that you had been murdered by the dark wizard who killed your parents. Or perhaps that you had left because of what happened between us..."

Harry kissed him furiously. "You didn't think that I would just leave you, would you? Don't you know that I love you?"

Tom sighed contentedly. "I thought you did... but then, when you vanished, I didn't know what to think. I was going mad with fear that I had lost you. I stopped teaching my classes; I spent all my time searching the castle and the grounds and the Forbidden Forest for you, talking to anyone who might have seen you." He flushed a little. "I may have roughed up Malfoy a little bit."

"You did?" Poor Abraxas!

"Mmhmm. Nothing bad, just a few bruises. He had the impertinence to suggest that you had left because of me. Professor Dippet was terribly unhappy with me when he heard of that little incident, but Horace Slughorn kindly interceded on my behalf and managed to convince the headmaster that young Mr. Malfoy must have done something to deserve it. But then, later, I began to think that maybe Abraxas was right. Perhaps you were ashamed of what had happened between us? When I thought that you weren't come back, I felt sick at heart. I made up my mind to leave Hogwarts. I couldn't bear to be in this room any more without you. To remember how we kissed, and to think you weren't coming back... What did I want to be a Hogwarts professor for, anyway? I toyed with the idea of going to London, of taking a post at Borgin and Burkes, of immersing myself in the Dark Arts."

Harry flung his arms around Tom. "Don't. Just... don't."

Tom gave him a crooked smile. "Oh, don't worry. Dumbledore talked me into staying. He assured me that you would be back soon."

"Dumbledore knew I would be back?"

Tom nodded. "Yes. He said he knew that you had to come back because... What was it he said? The heart knows no reason. Yes, I think that's how he put it."

An image of Grindelwald, the broken dark wizard, imprisoned in his stark grey cell in Nurmengard, flashed into Harry's mind. Grindelwald, waiting behind the prison walls, longing for the man who had defeated him to come and see him... And Dumbledore would come, because his heart would not let him do otherwise. Of course Dumbledore understood that I had to come back.

"What happened, Harry? What is Merlin's name happened to you?"

Harry looked into Tom's silver eyes and swallowed. "It was an accident, Tom. I never meant to leave you. I went back to the Slytherin dormitory, and I lay awake thinking of you. I was going to come back the next day, but I was... transported... somewhere else, accidentally. And then I couldn't find my way back to you. I thought I was going to go mad, not being able to return to you."

"Where did you go, Harry?" Tom stroked his face with a trembling hand.

"Nowhere." Harry whispered. "I was at Hogwarts the whole time. Just not... not in this time. A different time."

Tom's silver eyes regarded him with wonder. "You traveled into the past? I've read stories about that, but I didn't know it could actually happen."

Harry buried his head against Tom's throat. "Not the past, Tom. The future."

"You traveled into the future?" Tom's voice was almost inaudible.

Harry nodded silently.

"How far... into the future?"

Harry kissed Tom softly on the lips. "Far... Fifty years into the future. To a time when Abraxas Malfoy's grandson attends Hogwarts. Tom, that's where... That's where I came from in the first place."

He felt Tom's body stiffen against him. "You are from the future?"

Harry's eyes met Tom's quicksilver gaze. "I know this is difficult to believe, Tom."

"Oh, I don't know." A slight smile now. "My miraculous Harry. It would have been much more difficult to believe that you were someone ordinary, I suppose. And it does explain why we couldn't ask you about your past. You didn't have one..." A slight pause followed. Then Tom whispered: "If you have seen the future, Harry, have you also seen the two of us in it? Are we still in love with each other fifty years from now? Oh, wait..." A look of panic crossed his face. "Oh, Merlin!"

"What? What's wrong, Tom?" Voldemort. Can he sense the truth about Voldemort?

"If you are from fifty years in the future, then I'm fifty years older than you. I must be an old man in your time... Merlin!" Tom buried his face in his hands.

Harry laughed out loud. "You think I mind that you are older than me?"

"You don't mind?" Tom looked at him, perplexed. "How can you not mind? Fifty years is half a century. In your time, I'm old, and you... you must still be seventeen."

Harry smiled. "Sixteen, actually."

Tom groaned.

"Seriously, Tom, that part is irrelevant. You... you age well... Oh, I don't want to talk about the future right now." Harry pushed Tom down on the carpet and covered his body with his own. "More importantly..." He traced the line of Tom's jaw with a series of kisses. "I'm here with you, and I'm not leaving again. And I found that spell we were talking about. My friend Hermione helped me. She's very good at finding obscure spells, you see."

Tom flushed and and wrapped his arms tightly around Harry. "You found the spell? So did I. You didn't think I would neglect my research, would you?"

"Then what are we waiting for? Let's see if it works, shall we?" Harry tore at Tom's shirt.

Tom laughed. "Here on the floor, you savage from the future? How about my bed this time? I have a bedroom, you know, a rather comfortable one, in the teachers' wing."

"I like that idea..." Harry fumbled with Tom's buttons. "But don't you think people will wonder why you bring a student with you into your bedroom? Or rather, don't you think they will know why..."

"Not at all." Tom rolled over, suddenly in command now, and flipped Harry over on his back. He kissed Harry quickly on the lips before he sat up and began buttoning his shirt up again. "It's the only responsible thing a Defense Against the Dark Arts professor can do under the circumstances."

"What?"

Tom was grinning now. "Elias Black disappeared into thin air for two weeks, and the school was buzzing with rumors that the dread dark wizard who murdered his parents had finally found him. Even now when you are back, people will assume that you are in mortal danger. Of course your Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher is not going to let you sleep in the dormitory you vanished from two weeks ago. Until that dark wizard has been destroyed, you are to sleep in my quarters, guarded by extra protective spells. I don't think anyone would find that very odd."

"I'm going to sleep in your room so you can protect me from Voldemort?" If only you knew how absurd that idea is, Tom!

"Voldemort? Is that his name?" Tom got up and pulled Harry to his feet. "I am partly serious about this, Harry. You told me he was still alive. Even if he was not behind you disappearance, I would sleep a lot better at night knowing that you are safe with me."

Harry wrapped his arms around Tom and whispered in his ear: "I will not let you sleep well at night, Tom. You know that." And I don't think anyone on earth could protect me from Voldemort, least of all you. For the Dark Lord has marked me, and his mark penetrated to the depths of my soul.

Tom laughed and flushed. "Come on now. Let's get you to my bedroom now, while everyone else is still at dinner. I will send a message to the headmaster that you have been found, and that you are safe for now in my care. You can go back to class in the morning, but right now I really think you need some...er... rest. I'll get a house elf to bring up a tray for you later if you are hungry."

Harry smiled. "Whatever you say, professor Riddle."

Tom gave him a feigned stern glance. "Don't mock me, Mr. Black. I'm a great deal older than you, you know. You need to treat a man who is fifty years your senior with respect."

Harry looked at the eighteen year old boy in front of him and laughed.

...

They didn't meet anyone on their way; Tom had correctly surmised that everyone was still at dinner in the Great Hall. While Tom summoned a house elf and arranged for a message to be sent to the headmaster, Harry looked curiously around Tom's bedroom. It was decorated in silver and green, just like the Slytherin dormitory, but the room was more spacious and elegant. Harry sank down on the enormous black four poster bed and ran his fingers over the smooth silver sheets.

I wonder if Tom has dreamt of me in this bed.

"There." Tom pointed his wand at the door and muttered a locking spell. "All taken care of. Now there's just you and me..." His voice sank to a whisper as he came slowly towards Harry, a deep blush on his cheeks. "Oh, Merlin, to see you sitting there on my bed like that..."

He closed the rest of the distance between them hurriedly, and the next instant they were lying together on Tom's bed, limbs tangled, mouths crushed against each other. They tore frantically at each other's clothes until the fabric that separated them from one another was gone, reduced to a crumpled heap on the floor.

"How beautiful you are..." Tom's lips brushed over every inch of Harry's skin and set his body aflame.

"Me? You are the one who looks like an angel..." Harry's hands caressed Tom's flawless face.

"An angel?" Tom laughed. His face was flushed, his eyes dark with wanting. A fallen angel... But perhaps this fall is your only hope for redemption. "Your wanderings in time must have befuddled your senses, Harry. Would an angel do this-?"

He whispered a spell that Harry recognized with a blush. Harry buried his head against Tom's shoulder as an unfamiliar and intensely pleasurable sensation followed. He felt moist and relaxed and more than ready.

"Or this?" Tom's gently probing fingers began to explore the effects the spell had had on Harry.

Harry moaned helplessly in response. "Oh, Merlin!"

"Or this?"

Harry cried out incoherently as he felt Tom enter him. This time, there was no pain, only an unfamiliar sense of fullness accompanied by intense pleasure. Harry surrendered himself to Tom's frenzied strokes and to the desperate Fiendfyre of wanting that ran though his body and his soul. He heard his own voice whisper Tom's name, again and again, and his name spring from Tom's lips in response. Tom. My angel. My Dark Lord. My murderer. My lover.

Tom's sudden scream rent the stillness of the room, and Harry felt something warm and wet flooding him. Tom collapsed against Harry's body, and shivered as Harry came against him a moment after.

They didn't even bother with any cleaning spells; they merely rested, messy and delirious, against each other, burning skin against burning skin.

"Do you still think me an angel now?" Tom whispered as he left a trail of breathless kisses against Harry's throat.

"Maybe..." Harry ran his fingers through Tom's dark curls. But I wonder if you will still be Voldemort, one day in the distant future. No, no you can't be... He closed his eyes and let the image of Voldemort flood through his mind. Could that pale monster with the cold voice really be the warm boy who rested in his arms, still flushed from their lovemaking? Harry's mind wandered to the dream he had had during his brief return to his own time. Voldemort in the Shrieking Shack. His hand through my hair, his whisper in the shadows. The Dark Lord knows no mercy. Perhaps he will kill me with a kiss...

"What?" Tom sat up with a start. "You are thinking of him? Your parents' murderer, the dark wizard from the graveyard?" He stared at Harry, wide-eyed. "You are thinking of kissing him? Harry, what is this?"

No. No. No. Harry groaned and buried his head in the silver pillows. "I forgot you could read my mind... Don't worry about it, Tom. It was just a strange dream I remembered, that was all. I didn't happen."

"But you felt no horror when the memory of that dream entered your mind. You... you wanted to kiss him..." Tom's voice was hoarse. Then Harry felt a hand grasping his shoulder, hard.

"Harry, do you love him?"

"Tom, I love you..."

"Why aren't you answering my question? Do you love him?"

Harry looked up. The pain in Tom's eyes was almost too much to bear. He reached out for Tom, but Tom brushed his arms away.

"For Merlin's sake, just tell me the truth! Do you love him?"

Harry swallowed. "Tom... I think there is something I should tell you..."


	13. Chapter 13

Tom had forgotten to light the fire, and the room was growing chilly now. Harry wound the silver sheets and blankets around them both, spinning a shimmering cocoon of warmth around the two of them. He wrapped himself around Tom inside the silky layers that protected them from the frosty evening air. Through the tall arched windows, Harry could see the flaming sun setting over the Hogwarts grounds, but there was no heat in the last deep golden rays of the dying sun as they slanted through the old leaded window panes. Tom drew closer to the warmth of Harry's limbs.

"What do you have to tell me, Harry?"

Harry looked into Tom's silver eyes and felt a strange shiver in his heart. Oh, Tom, how can I tell you of the horrors of the future? How can I speak of what you will become? He placed a soft kiss against Tom's lips. I want to keep you like this, warm and close, untouched by autumn's chill, unaware of the icy darkness gathering around you in the future. I will not speak of Voldemort, for that cold-hearted shadowy wizard of tomorrow is not yet here, although I can sense his frosty breath in the air, descending on me like a kiss...

"Why aren't you speaking? Is it so terrible, what you have to tell me?" Tom asked the question lightly, but Harry could sense the cold, black fear that was rising in him now. Tom was so close that Harry couldn't tell if he knew of Tom's foreboding from reading the thoughts that whispered through his mind or from feeling the slight trembling that ran through his limbs.

"I'm afraid of telling you, Tom."

He sensed Tom's fear washing over him in dark pulsing waves, flooding his mind and his thoughts. Harry whispered, in response to all the frantic questions Tom didn't have to utter: "No. It's not that I don't love you, Tom. How could you even think that? I love you with all my heart, and always will. Only you. No matter what."

"Good." Tom's arms wound even more tightly around his body. "Except for the "no matter what" part... I'm not sure I like the sound of that."

Harry rested his cheek against Tom's. How do I tell you of the murders you will commit? How will I speak of your terrible transformation? Perhaps I don't have to tell you. I wouldn't have to tell you the truth if I could just stay here in this time with you forever and watch over you. I would make sure you never commit another murder or make another horcrux. I could take you away from the wizarding world and live with you in a cottage by the sea. Perhaps we will bury our wands in the garden there, and they will take root and become a holly tree and a yew tree. And we will sit under the trees we planted and look out over the sea, and both Voldemort and Harry Potter will be forgotten. There will just be two men living by the sea together until they grow old and die.

"Harry?" Tom's voice was calm, but Harry felt the frantic rhythm of Tom's heart against his chest. "Tell me what's on your mind. Whatever it is, I need to know. I can't bear for there to be any secrets between us."

Harry closed his eyes. You. The warmth of your skin against mine. The two of us so closely intertwined that it feels like we are just one being. Our minds so entwined that I no longer know which thoughts are yours and which are mine.

"No secrets, Tom." He breathed deeply. "A few hours ago, in your office, I told you the name of the dark wizard who killed my parents. Voldemort..." Harry swallowed thickly and tried to look at Tom. "Tom, that name can't have been entirely unfamiliar to you. You have heard it before, haven't you?"

After all, it was your memory who showed me, in the Chamber of Secrets, how you had created that name.

"So you know about that?" said Tom softly. "I must admit it was a surprise, hearing that name again, in such a different context, but I had more pressing things on my mind a few hours ago than thinking about long-forgotten names and bizarre coincidences. Things like getting you into my bed. Which reminds me..."

Harry stopped Tom's wandering hand with his own and squeezed it gently. "Later, Tom." Why aren't you listening? Surely, you must sense what I am going to tell you? Isn't there a part of you that already knows?

Tom stirred in Harry's arms. His words came tumbling out, much too fast. "Well, of course I thought it terribly strange and quite disturbing that he had chosen that name as well. Voldemort was the secret name I chose for myself a few years ago, when I had grown tired of being the powerless orphan boy Tom Marvolo Riddle, named after a father who never loved me and an impoverished grandfather I had never met. I rearranged the letters in that hated name so that they formed the phrase "I am Lord Voldemort". It had a certain ring to it, I thought, and I began to think of myself as Voldemort. Quite a few of my Slytherin friends began to call me that in secret as well. Avery and Lestrange, who were in my year, knew that name, and Cygnus and Druella and Araminta as well. Why, even Horace Slughorn, who always knows everything and everybody, called me by that name once, half in jest. I suppose one of those idiots must have revealed the name to the monstrous creature who killed your parents. But why he would wish to assume that name is beyond me... Perhaps he liked the meaning of it: Voldemort. Vol de mort. Flight from death. When you mentioned his name, I must admit that I felt quite annoyed that he would dare steal my elegant nom de plume, but then I got distracted by the way your hair sticks up in the back, and I forgot all about it."

"Tom..."

"It's really very adorable. Your hair. It's quite impossible not to want to touch it once you notice it." Tom's fingers ran lightly through Harry's hair, but Harry could feel that his hand was trembling.

"Tom! Don't do this." Harry's voice was a whisper. "You know the truth, Tom. Deep down, you must know it. About Voldemort. About you."

Tom was silent.

"Tom?"

Tom shook his head. "It can't be, Harry. It can't. It's impossible. I saw... I saw his face so clearly in the memories that ran through your mind. I saw his terrible, inhuman features. That was not my face. I was terrified for a moment when you first mentioned his name, but then I remembered his face, and I understood that it couldn't have been me after all. He was someone else altogether." His quicksilver gaze met Harry's for a moment, before it turned away. You know the truth, Tom.

Harry stroked Tom's face lightly. "You saw in my mind that I dreamed of kissing him, Tom. Do you think I would ever dream of anyone but you?"

Silence. Then Tom pulled away from Harry, buried his head in the silver pillow and moaned. "No. No. No!""

Harry wrapped himself around Tom and held him tight. "Remember, Tom, that the future hasn't happened yet. None of it needs to happen."

"Your scar..." Tom lifted his head now. "I gave you that scar? I was the one who tried to kill you? The one who murdered your parents? How is that possible? I love you... " He traced Harry's scar with an unsteady finger. "God, what have I done to you-?"

"Nothing. It hasn't happened yet. Listen, Tom." Harry found Tom's mouth with his own and kissed him deeply. "Just listen. Let me tell you the story of you and me, the way it happened in the future I remember. And then, once you know that story, we will write it all over again, together, until it ends quite differently. When you have heard that story, we can erase it and create a new story, one that ends in a cottage by the sea, rather than on a battlefield."

"A cottage by the sea?" whispered Tom. "With you? I would like that... Tell me, then, Harry. Tell me the story of... Voldemort."

It was growing dark now, and Tom's face was beginning to fade into the shadows. But Harry felt Tom's breath against his face as he talked, and Tom's skin was still warm against his own. He breathed deeply and told Tom his story from the beginning. This, my Dark Lord, is the story of the Boy Who Lived. He told Tom about the long years of abuse and neglect at the Dursleys, about the miraculous letter from Hogwarts, about Ron and Hermione, the troll in the dungeon, the sorcerer's stone and the two-faced professor in the underground chamber. Tom did not speak, but Harry could feel him tremble as he spoke of the Chamber of Secret, the shadowy boy from the diary, and of the basilisk. Tom listened in silence as Harry told him about the dark dementors, about Sirius Black and the traitorous Peter Pettigrew, about the Triwizard Tournament and the false Moody, the encounter with Voldemort in the graveyard, the excruciating detentions with Umbridge, the battle at the Ministry, Sirius falling through the veil, Slughorn's memory of Tom and horcruxes, Snape's assassination of Dumbledore, his own travel into the past and back to the future, the message he had sent to Voldemort...

"No." Tom sat up in bed abruptly. "No, Harry. That part of the story must be wrong."

"Wrong?" Harry reached for his wand. He managed to light the lamp by the bedside so he could see Tom's face, hauntingly lovely in the flickering lamplight, but the spell he directed at the fireplace in the far corner did nothing.

Tom shook his head and sighed. "For such an enchanted creature, you have the most pitiful grasp on ordinary spells, my love. You can resist the Imperius curse, survive the killing curse, and travel through time, but you can't light a fire. Didn't you ever pay attention in class? Here..." He took Harry's wand from him and used it to light the fire in the fireplace. He smiled, but his hand was shaking, and Harry could see that he was deathly pale.

Tom sank back down among the silvery sheets. "Your story... God, it makes me sick at heart, Harry. I was the one who did all this to you? And yet I know that it must be true. There is a part of me that could have done all that. There is a part of me that could become him. It's true... All except for that last thing. That can't be true. If you sent a message to Voldemort after you traveled back in time and fell in love with me, how could I not remember?"

Harry looked down. "It had been fifty years, Tom, and you... You had changed a great deal."

"No. That wouldn't have mattered. I could have lost every fragment of humanity I once possessed, I could have lost my body and my soul, but I would have remembered you. Your message must not have reached me."

"It did reach you. Malfoy told me had given you the message, and that you had no idea what I was talking about."

"Malfoy?" Tom stared at him, wide-eyed, for a moment. He made an odd little sound that was half way between a strangled sob and laughter: "You sent a message with Malfoy? No wonder it got lost. Oh, Merlin, what an idiot you are, Harry! You trusted Malfoy?" He assaulted Harry with a storm of fiery kisses. "Well, that explains a lot."

"Not Abraxas," moaned Harry through the kisses. "His grandson, Draco."

"Same thing," muttered Tom. "Why would he be any more trustworthy than his flighty grandfather? If this future Malfoy gave me your message, I would have sent a message back begging you to meet me. But that little twerp probably didn't tell you that. Perhaps he was worried that I would kill you? He was probably trying to save your life or something by interfering in our correspondence and convincing you that I did not want to meet you."

"Really?" Harry frowned as he pondered this for a moment. Could Draco Malfoy have wanted to protect me? From you? What a terribly strange thought. "I don't know, Tom. Draco is a death eater, one of Voldemort's supporters. He's supposed to be on your side."

"A death eater?" Tom made a face. "Yuck. Please tell me I wasn't the one who made up that inane term. What was wrong with "The Knights of Walpurgis"? That's what my... er... circle used to call themselves. A little melodramatic, perhaps, but not without a certain flair. But death eaters? Seriously?"

Harry couldn't help laughing. "Anyway, Tom, I'm not sure Draco Malfoy would have wanted to save my life. He has always disliked me."

"Disliked you? Now you are just being absurd, Harry. Nobody could possibly dislike you, my love, not with your hair sticking up like that. This errant Malfoy of the future probably adores you in secret but is too ashamed to admit it."

"No, I'm pretty sure he hates me."

"Oh, nonsense. How could anyone hate you?"

Harry laughed shakily. "That sounds a little strange, coming from someone who tried to murder me repeatedly in the future."

Tom groaned.

"Sorry." Harry kissed him gently on the forehead. "Everything's changed now, anyway. The future won't be the same anymore. I think we have managed to mess up the future I remember pretty well by now. It's 1945, and I am Voldemort's lover. I don't see how history could ever be the same."

"Really?" Tom's lips lingered against Harry's. "Perhaps we should mess with history a little bit more, just to make sure..." Rogue hands began to roam over Harry's body.

Harry smiled. "That would probably be a good idea. But this time, it's my turn to use that spell."

...

Harry sank down on his pillow, breathless. "There. You don't think Voldemort could possibly exist after that, do you?"

Tom was gasping for breath as well. "I'm not even sure I still exist after that, you deliciously savage monster. Who would have known you had it in you? You look so sweet and innocent, but Merlin, those looks are deceiving! Nice touch, the Parseltongue, though."

"Enjoyed that, did you?

"Mmmhmm. Very much, as you could tell..." Tom ran his fingers through Harry's hair and kissed him softly on top of the head. Harry closed his eyes, and nestled in Tom's arms, comfortably drowsy now.

"Harry?" Tom whispered softly. "What if... What is he is still there? Voldemort... You have already seen him, and he has left his mark on you. Are you sure we can make the future you have already lived go away? What if he still lingers somewhere in the future? What if he can't be undone?"

Harry shivered and clasped Tom more closely. "Oh, don't talk like that. How can he be real if he doesn't exist yet?"

Tom kissed Harry's scar gently. "How can your scar be real if no one has yet given it to you?"

Harry frowned. "I don't know, Tom. Perhaps we can ask Alphard what the future will look like. Alphard has a magical time-turner, and he has been traveling here and there. He was the one who... er... gave me a ride back here. Apparently, Dumbledore told him where to find me. I'm sure Alphard will return to the time I came from soon; he seems to have fallen for my girlfriend."

"You have a girlfriend?" Tom stared at him. "Now you tell me?"

Harry laughed. "My friend Ron's sister Ginny. We were dating for a few weeks. It was never very serious, though, nothing like you and me... I think she has started going out with Alphard anyway."

"Glad to hear it." Tom sighed. "We will await the reports of the enamored time-traveler, then. Hopefully, he will find the future very different next time he visits it." Tom's kisses trailed down Harry's neck. "Harry? If Voldemort still exists out there somewhere in the future, I promise you that he will never harm you again."

Harry swallowed. "How do you know that for sure, Tom?"

Tom's silver eyes glittered as he looked at Harry. "If he ever threatened you in any way, my love, he would have to reckon with a foe more formidable than any he has ever faced. You told me that Dumbledore was the only one Voldemort ever feared. But if Voldemort ever attempts to harm you again, he will find himself pitted against a wizard far more powerful than Dumbledore." Tom's voice sank to a whisper. "If he tried to hurt you again, Harry, he would have to deal with me."


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For M, who loved the rain.

Harry slept in Tom's arms until morning. As he slept, he dreamed of Voldemort. But he no longer dreamed of the terrifying Voldemort he knew so well from his nightmares, the familiar figure whose inhuman features had hovered, pale and startling, in his nightly dreams for years. Now his dreams were haunted by a more shadowy Dark Lord he didn't know, a formless Voldemort of the future, faceless and cloaked in utter darkness. Harry felt his mind reach out for this unknown Voldemort. Your face. Show me your face. Are your eyes still gleaming scarlet under your hood, or is your gaze silver, like Tom's? But the immaterial figure of the Dark Lord was beyond his grasp, a hovering shade without form or substance, darker than darkness, more elusive than wind. Who are you, Voldemort? Are you Tom?

But something reached softly into Harry's dreams and dispelled the haunting shadow of Voldemort. Harry, lingering between dreams and wakefulness, sensed something against his forehead, and he knew that it was Tom, kissing his scar over and over again, as if he wanted to kiss Voldemort's mark away.

When Harry finally opened his eyes to the grey-white light of early dawn, he looked into Tom's luminous silver-grey eyes, and a faint tingling sensation that hovered about his lips told him that Tom's mouth had been there a moment before.

"Good morning," whispered Tom.

Harry smiled. "Good morning. Were you watching me sleep?"

Tom flushed a little. "Maybe I was. I couldn't help it; you are so beautiful when you sleep."

"But if you had woken me up instead, we could have made love before breakfast." Tom's skin was still warm from sleep, and Harry couldn't bear the thought of tearing himself away from Tom quite yet.

"It's still early enough for that, my love." Tom pressed a series of deep kisses against Harry's throat, and Harry managed a weak protest, although he could feel his body respond with an aching arousal.

"Tom, you are going to leave a mark. Everyone will know."

"Know what?" breathed Tom against his skin. "That you belong to me? I hope so. Even Abraxas Malfoy should be able to take this hint."

Harry laughed and squirmed away. "Well, in that case, here's an equally visible hint for Walburga. And for Slughorn as well, who's still lusting over you. Not that I can blame him for that, really." He kissed Tom's throat, hard.

"Ouch, you vampire." Tom laughed. "Is this better?" He kissed Harry gently on the lips, again and again. "Mmm. So, you know poor Horace's secret, do you? Don't tell him you know, Harry; he'll die of shame."

"I won't. Tom, did Slughorn ever try to...? Oh." Harry flushed as a memory from Tom's mind penetrated his consciousness: Slughorn's face, filled with a terrible, desperate wanting, as he spoke to Tom: "Why should I tell you more about horcruxes, Tom? What could possibly induce me to share such dangerous forbidden knowledge with a student?" And Tom had smiled and brushed Slughorn's cheek lightly with his hand, and Slughorn had closed his eyes and whispered hoarsely: "What will you do for me in return, Tom-?" The question had lingered, dangerously and suggestively in the air for a moment, but then Tom had answered softly: "Nothing, Horace. I offer you nothing in return. But you will tell me anyway, because I want you to." And Slughorn had opened his eyes and gazed into Tom's silver eyes for a long time. And then he had sighed and nodded. "You are right, Tom, my beautiful angel. Of course I will tell you anyway. How could I deny you anything?"

Harry stroked Tom's curls absently, still haunted by the expression on Slughorn's face. "Poor Slughorn... You have a lot of power over people, Tom."

"Poor Slughorn? He practically propositioned a sixth year student."

"I know. But my heart is breaking for him anyway."

Tom traced the curve of Harry's lips with his finger. "How can you read my mind so well, Harry? You never told me about that part. Does that have something to do with... with Voldemort as well?"

Harry kissed the finger that lingered against his lips. How terribly odd to hear you speak of Voldemort. "Oh. Yes. I... I didn't understand that myself until the day we were walking together on the moor. I had often wondered why there was this curious connection between... between Voldemort's mind and mine. Between you and me. I thought that perhaps it had something to do with my scar, but I wasn't sure."

"And does it?" Tom's lips brushed gently against his scar.

"In a way." Harry swallowed. "I told you about the horcruxes Voldemort created in the future. But it wasn't until I met you - the real you, not him - that I realized that there was one more horcrux, one that Voldemort created accidentally, the night he murdered my parents."

"Another horcrux? What horcrux?" Tom was pale now.

Harry wound his arms around Tom's neck. "Me, Tom. I am your horcrux."

He could sense the sudden shock that ran through Tom's mind, a jolt of fear and distress. But there was something else there was well, a strange aching sweetness.

"You are a horcrux?" whispered Tom. "My horcrux? But you are a person. Can a person be a horcrux? Oh, God, Harry, what have I done to you? You... You are my soul-?"

Harry held Tom close and whispered in Parseltongue: *Yes, Tom. Your soul. I am you and you are me. We are one.*

Tom moaned. "Will you stop that, Harry! I'm trying to comprehend the strange and terrible and... and wonderful... thing you just told me, but you are making me lose my train of thought when you speak like that."

Harry smiled and muttered against Tom's ear, still in Parseltongue. *Why? What does it do to you when I speak to you like this? Tell me, Tom.*

Tom groaned. "Stop, Harry... I'm trying to think..."

*Want to know what I'm thinking, Tom? I'm thinking of you inside me, inside my body and my soul.*

"Oh, Merlin." Tom moaned helplessly and ran his fingers over Harry's skin. His hands brushed down Harry's back and over his backside. "You... Oh, God. You."

He rolled Harry over on his side and wrapped his arms tightly around him from behind. The familiar spell fell from Tom's lips as a sigh. Harry could feel Tom's hot breath, ragged and uneven, against his neck. Trembling hands stroked down Harry's chest and stomach and wrapped around his already rock-hard shaft.

"You are my... horcrux? Mine? You are mine..." For a moment, Harry thought he recognized Voldemort's curiously cold voice in Tom's whisper, and he trembled as he realized that he found the dark longing in Tom's voice almost unbearably arousing. Harry closed his eyes and shivered as he felt Tom's hand caress his length with frenzied strokes, and then Tom's shaft, pushing frantically into him from behind. Tom. Voldemort. Tom. Harry moaned as Tom thrust into him, slow and deep and hard at first, then with a growing frenzy. *My horcrux. My soul.*

*Tom!*

*My horcrux. Mine. You are mine, Harry. All mine.*

...

Harry rolled out of the warm bed with a groan and reached for his crumpled clothes.

Tom leaned up on one elbow and watched him with a smile as he got dressed. "Hey! That is my shirt. This time, you're doing it on purpose!"

"Mm-hmm." Harry grinned as he buttoned the shirt and slid the silver locket horcrux around his neck. "I guess you'll have to take mine."

"Oh, don't worry, I will." Tom tumbled out of bed as well and began putting his clothes - and Harry's shirt - back on. His hair was wild and mussed from sleep and love, and Harry couldn't help staring at him.

"What?" Tom looked at him quizzically, his face flushed and his shirt half-buttoned.

*You are beautiful.*

Tom groaned. "Have mercy on me, Harry. No more Parseltongue until this evening, or we'll never make it to class today... And you'd better not let Abraxas hear you speak like that. Ever."

"I can't see you till this evening?" Harry's stomach gave a strange little lurch.

"We will see each other, of course, but not alone. Unless..." Tom turned and gazed at the window. Light silvered drops of rain were dancing against the windowpane. "It's raining. Your Quidditch practice will probably be canceled. Even Abraxas won't want to practice in weather like this. Perhaps we can go for a walk together in the afternoon."

Harry looked out at the light drizzle that fell steadily from the dark grey sky. "A walk? But it's raining! If it's raining too much for Quidditch practice, why do you want to go for a walk?"

Tom's arms wrapped tightly around his waist. "I've always liked the rain. Have you never gone for a walk when it's raining like this? It's such an odd enchanted feeling, walking in the forest in the rain. Come with me this afternoon, Harry? Please?"

I never knew that Voldemort liked to walk in the rain.

"Of course, Tom. I'll see you this afternoon."

...

A murmur ran through the Great Hall as Harry found his seat at the Slytherin table at breakfast time.

"Elias? Where the hell have you been?" Cygnus glanced up sharply.

"Are you all right?" Orion looked at him with concern in his large black eyes. Harry couldn't help noticing that even Orion's long dark curls could not completely hide a small dark bruise on his throat. Been seeing a lot of Walburga these past few weeks, have you Orion?

Harry felt fairly certain that the beginnings of a similar bruise was blooming on his own throat, and he felt his cheeks grow hot. "I've been... away. Long story. I can't really talk about it. But I'm back now. What's new?" He helped himself to scrambled eggs and a pile of sausages.

"What's new?" Abraxas stared at him. "Merlin! You disappear into thin air for two weeks, while the teachers turn over every stone in the castle looking for you and Tom Riddle combs the Forbidden Forest for any sign of you, and then you suddenly reappear at breakfast and ask us what's new?" Abraxas flung a piece of toast at Harry's head. "You are impossible, you know that?"

Harry laughed and threw the toast back at him. "Sorry, Abraxas. I'm... I'm afraid I don't have anything to tell you."

"That's all right, Elias. We all know that." Alphard broke calmly into the conversation. "Tom Riddle told us that your absence had to do with a dark wizard, and that we are not to ask any further questions. I think we should respect that, Abraxas."

"I'd respect Riddle's opinion a lot more if he didn't beat me up the moment Elias disappeared," muttered Abraxas, rubbing a dark bruise on his cheek ruefully. "As if I am in the habit of threatening people's health and safety!"

Harry grinned. "Well, you must admit that it would not be inconceivable for you to get a fellow student so drunk on moonflower punch that he wouldn't be able to stir for a few weeks."

Abraxas sighed and helped himself to bacon. "True, of course. Those things can happen. But if you had spent two weeks in my tender care, lying unconscious and defenseless in some secret location of my choosing, do you really think I would have been coming to class all that time? Seriously?" He ducked as Harry groaned and tossed more toast at him.

"Cut it out, both of you!" Cygnus looked sternly at them. "Need I remind you that you are a prefect, Abraxas?"

Abraxas raised an eyebrow at him. His grey eyes glittered. "Thank you for the reminder, Cygnus. Well, then, Elias: Being a prefect, I hereby dock you five points for scaring the shit out of all of us. So there."

Cygnus stared at Abraxas, aghast. "You can't do that, you idiot. He's in Slytherin! You can't dock points from your own house."

"Says who?" Abraxas chewed serenely on his bacon. "The headmaster didn't say anything about that during Prefect Orientation. Now, let this be a lesson to you, Elias. If you ever dare pull a disappearing act like that again, I'll deduct five hundred points. From Slytherin."

Harry couldn't help laughing as a storm of indignant protests broke out among the other Slytherin students. "It's all right, Abraxas. I won't. If only for the sake of the House Cup."

"We missed you at rehearsals for the pantomime, Elias," said Eileen Prince softly. "Well, at least some of us did..." She looked coldly at Araminta.

Did Harry just imagine it, or did Araminta turn ever so slightly pink? She shrugged and said, with a rather cold glance at Harry: "Lupin is not such a bad knight after all. He is an excellent kisser, and he is a pureblood wizard after all, even if he is in Gryffindor."

Harry looked quizzically at Orion, who smiled and nodded his head ever so slightly. Really? Araminta and John Lupin? But then... But what about Remus? Merlin, don't tell me that I've somehow messed up the future again... Harry sighed deeply.

"I expect you will take over the part of Sir Luckless again now that you are back." The tone of Araminta's voice made it fairly clear that she was not at all happy about this prospect.

"What-? No. Absolutely not." Harry shook his head with great determination. "I've... missed a lot of classes. I'll have a hard enough time catching up with my schoolwork as it is. I do not have time for the pantomime right now. I'm sorry."

"Oh, well. Schoolwork has to come first, I suppose." Araminta looked slightly mollified now. Her glance drifted, almost imperceptibly, over to the Gryffindor table.

Harry wished vaguely that he had thought to ask Hermione during his brief visit to the future what did happen to Beery's Christmas disastrous pantomime. He knew he had heard something about it, long ago. Sir Luckless and Amata were falling for each other... Yes, that part sounded right. But wasn't there something about them breaking up because... because of what exactly? Because... Sir Luckless has fallen in love with Asha instead-? Harry glanced doubtfully over to the Gryffindor table, where the freckled Augusta Moon was balancing a spoon on the tip of her nose, to the applause of her fellow Gryffindors. No. No, he did not remember that part right.

Harry rather enjoyed the rest of his school day. Curious looks and hushed whispers followed him through the day, but he was used to those from his years as the Chosen One in a distant future, so he didn't mind too much.

Herbology with Professor Beery never seemed to involve any actual magical plants; the curriculum had been put on hold until after the pantomime at Christmas. Beery did occasionally remember to assign them a few random chapters on asphodel and flitterblooms to read, but since they never went over the materials in class, no one actually read them. Beery was terribly dismayed to learn that Harry did not want to resume the role of the tragic Sir Luckless, but Araminta was able to help convince him that Harry needed desperately to catch up on his missed homework instead.

"I know that it must break his heart not to be able to take part in the play," she had said softly, gazing at Beery with her brilliant sapphire eyes, "but as a prefect, I feel that it is my duty to insist that his education must take precedence. "

Beery couldn't very well argue with that, so Harry had spent Herbology writing a long essay for Slughorn about the Draught of Living Death while watching the pantomime rehearsals out of the corner of his eye. He recalled enough of the future Half Blood Prince's improvements on the instructions in the textbook that he was fairly certain his essay would blow Slughorn's mind.

The play was going quite well now. Sir Luckless, in Lupin's passionate rendition, pined so longingly for Amata that Professor Beery inquired, in all seriousness, if he had taken a love potion prior to rehearsal. The infirm Asha was looking so greenish pale that Harry suspected that Augusta had cast a few nausea-inducing charms on herself. At one point, she did indeed throw up rather spectacularly all over the Giant Worm, much to the delight of the bored chorus, who was just supposed to hum softly in the background during that particular scene. Druella Rosier had flatly refused to wear the grimy rags Professor Beery had found for the downtrodden Altheda. She had substituted her own delicate chiffon rags instead, which, although badly torn, had an undeniable Parisian flair. Little groups of giggling green-clad house-elves performed some rather bizarre ring dances, and the enchanted fountain bubbled so merrily to the music that several of the actors got quite wet.

Professor Binns' History of Magic class later in the day was as tranquilizing as always; the little professor's dry and creaky voice soon had the entire class lulled into a comfortable sleep. Harry wondered vaguely when he woke up from his dreamless slumber an hour later whether anyone would ever know whether Professor Binns really talked about the history of magic the entire time. Perhaps he waits till everyone is asleep before switching topics. Perhaps he talks about the deepest mysteries of time and space, reveals that the lost land of Atlantis is located in one of the Liverpool suburbs, or tells us how to transfigure pumpkin juice into the Elixir of Life. I don't suppose anyone will ever know.

Harry hurried up to Dumbledore before Transfiguration class and slipped him the chocolate frog card he had brought with him from the future. Dumbledore stared at it, an expression of absolute delight spreading over his face. He thanked Harry warmly and muttered as he slipped the card into the pockets of his robes: "Twelve uses of dragon's blood? Dear me, that's quite a feat. I can only think of four. I wonder if carpet cleaner...? No, that's not very likely..."

Dumbledore did not comment on Harry's absence or return; he merely smiled and commenced the day's lesson, which involved transforming wilted flowers into live ones. Alphard Black turned out to be remarkably good at this, but Harry noticed with a smile that some of Alphard's most spectacular flowers appeared to come from his pockets rather than from the pile of dried lilacs in front of him. Another journey into springtime, Alphard?

...

Since he didn't have Defense Against the Dark Arts that day, Harry only saw Tom at a distance until the afternoon. The all too brief glimpses of dark curls and silver eyes made his heart flutter, and he smiled as he felt his neck carefully for the slight bruise that he knew must be there. To his relief, the autumn rain continued to fall all day, and Abraxas had no choice but to cancel Quidditch practice after tea. John Lupin did the same for the Gryffindor team, but he grumbled far less than Abraxas as he trailed after Araminta in the direction of the library.

As soon as he left the Great Hall, Harry sensed Tom by his side. They didn't speak until they were out on the grounds; they merely walked silently out into the rain together. The rain fell softly from the dark grey sky, and the light beads of water clung to their hair and skin and moistened their robes. As soon as they reached the Forbidden Forest, Tom reached out for Harry's hand. The walked together, hand in hand, in silence for a while under the ancient trees. A light silvery mist hung over the forest; the crowns of the tall oaks vanished in grey and white far above their heads. The dying leaves of the oak trees had turned scarlet and gold, but their colors seemed to glow more faintly now, lost in a shroud of silver and grey. Harry breathed in the scent of wood and earth and rain. It was quiet here under the tall trees; no birds or animals stirred. There were no sounds but the soothing rhythm of rain against leaves and their own breathing. He reached out and touched the little drops of rain that lingered, like tiny pearls, in Tom's hair.

Tom kissed him softly on the lips. His kiss was warm against Harry's mouth. They wrapped their arms around each other and stood still together under the trees, listening to the lilting cadence of the rain.

"I always liked the rain," whispered Tom. "Ever since I was a child, in the orphanage. Everyone else would always rush inside when the rain fell, but I would sneak outside in secret and go for walks by myself. Sometimes the matron would come and look for me, stomping angrily towards me under her large furiously red umbrella, demanding to know if I was insane. According to her, no sane person would be out in the pouring rain. But I always thought of the rain as a friend. It touches you so gently, it feels like a caress, like a kiss almost. And no one can tell if you are crying in the rain; your tears become raindrops like all the others."

Harry kissed Tom's face. His skin was moist and cold from the rain. "I wonder if he remembers the rain, Tom..."

"Voldemort?" Tom looked at him. His grey eyes were almost the same color as the rain. "I don't know, Harry. I wish I knew."

They walked slowly through the forest together until it was beginning to grow dark. By the time they came back to the school, they were both wet to the skin, but neither one cared. They let go of each other's hands before they walked up the ancient stone steps leading up to the castle.

"Thank you for showing me the rain, Tom."

Professor Dippet appeared in the doorway. "Merlin's beard, what are you doing, boys? You are both soaked! Are you insane, walking outside in rain like that?"

Tom and Harry both laughed as they slipped past him into the warmth of the castle.

But a tall, grave figure was waiting for them right inside the door. "There you are. I have been looking for both of you. I'm afraid I have some bad news."

It was Alphard Black, and he had a distinctly worried expression on his face.


	15. Chapter 15

"What's wrong, Alphard?" Harry pulled the gawky Slytherin boy into the front hall of the castle, away from Professor Dippet's curious glance.

"My office." Tom spoke softly behind them, shaking the rain out of his dark curls. "We can talk in there without being disturbed."

Alphard nodded briefly, and the three of them headed rapidly to Tom's study.

The room was warm and cheerful, and they pulled their chairs up to the flames that crackled merrily in the fireplace. The rain was still tapping a slow mesmerizing rhythm against the windows, but Harry felt the warmth from the fire dispel the moisture from his rain-soaked robes and his hair.

Harry looked curiously at Alphard Black, the quiet traveler. Ordinary. He seems so strangely ordinary, for one who roams through time. Just a tall and awkward teenage boy, determined to change fate and rescue those he loves. He felt his heart warm to the Slytherin boy.

"What's happening, Alphard?" Tom's voice was calm, but Harry could sense the fear that pulsed through his mind at the sight of Alphard's sober face.

Voldemort. He has news of Voldemort. Harry couldn't tell if the thought was Tom's or his own.

"I..." Alphard hesitated. His grave dark glance lingered on Tom's face. "Elias, how much does Tom know about... the future?"

Harry reached out for Tom's hand. "I have told him everything I know, Alphard. He knows about Voldemort. And about my parents' deaths, and my scar, and the prophecy about the two of us. And my name is Harry, by the way, not Elias."

Alphard smiled slightly. "Yes, I know. Ginny told me. I'm just used to thinking of you as 'Elias'..." He turned to Tom and asked softly. "And? What happens now that you know, Tom?"

Harry felt Tom's hand brush softly over his cheek. There was a slight tremor in Tom's voice as he answered: "Everything has changed, Alphard. I don't want the future to be what the two of you have already seen. It's not going to be. I will fire the killing curse at myself rather than let that happen. I am Harry's lover, not his enemy. I will never let any harm come to him or to those he cares for."

Alphard nodded. "That's what I thought," he said softly.

"Alphard?" Harry could almost hear his own furious heartbeat. "Did you go back to the future? What... what did you see there?"

Alphard studied the carpet for a minute, avoiding Harry's glance. "Well, I went back and saw Ginny. I was hoping to find the wizarding world of the future very different this time, but I didn't..." His voice trailed off.

"Nothing's changed?" Harry stared at him. "Alphard, how can that be? Tom is with me now; how could he become Voldemort? It's not possible."

Alphard looked up. "I don't know how it's possible, Elias. Harry... But he is there. Voldemort. In the future. And his death eaters as well. Dumbledore is still dead, and so are Sirius and Regulus."

Harry looked at him in horror. Voldemort is still there, in the future? Is his existence inevitable? Is Tom somehow destined to become Voldemort? No, that can't be! There must be a way to prevent this!

"Is he me?" Tom's voice was hoarse. "Can you tell, Alphard? Voldemort - is he me or is he someone else? If I choose not to become Voldemort, how can he still exist?"

Alphard shook his head slowly. "I don't know, Tom. But I do know that names are imbued with magic. Perhaps something happened at that moment in the future when you magically changed your name from "Tom Riddle" to "Voldemort". I don't know; not many wizards have ever chosen to change their names. Our names are what we are; they are our very essence. Names are immensely powerful - that's why we utter the names of objects in ancient tongues when we recite spells, because the archaic names are magically bound to the objects themselves. And that's why a magical letter from Hogwarts will always find the recipient, no matter where he or she may be. Once the name is magically inscribed on the letter, the message is drawn to the person who possesses that name. Ginny even told me about a map that exists in your time, Harry, an enchanted map of Hogwarts that recognizes everyone within the castle by name and traces their movements through the halls and passages of the school."

"The Marauders' Map." Harry nodded. "Ginny knows about that, does she? Yes, that's how it works; the map knows everyone by their true names. Not even polyjuice potion or the transformation of an animagus can fool the map; it tells your real name no matter what."

Alphard looked thoughtfully at Tom. "I wonder how and when you changed your name, Tom."

Tom shook his head and whispered: "I don't know, Alphard. How can I know? It hasn't happened yet. I have played with that dreadful name, yes, assumed it half in jest, had my admirers call me by that name, written it in my diary. But to change my name completely, so that I become an entirely new being - that must have taken a powerful magical spell." He flushed. "I have read enough of dark magic that I think I know precisely which spell would be needed. Unfortunately, it's not the sort of spell that could ever be undone. I understand you have traveled back and forth through time, Alphard. Do you have any idea when my final transformation will happen?"

Alphard considered for a moment. "I don't know exactly when it happened, Tom. But I have seen glimpses of the future, and I know that your followers will begin to use the name "Voldemort" more and more often in... in the decades that will follow this moment in time. But the actual instant of magical transformation is difficult to pinpoint. Perhaps around the time when Regulus became a death eater? That would have been around 1977, I suppose. Maybe that was when the Dark Lord came into being; perhaps that was the moment when Tom Riddle died and Voldemort was born. I think there is only one way to find out."

"What's that?" Tom leaned forward, his face deathly pale.

Alphard fingered the delicate golden chain around his neck. "If you travel to the future with me, Tom, we can see what happens. If you arrive at Hogwarts in Harry's time, will you still be Tom Riddle? And if you are still Tom, will Voldemort exist separately from you? Will you be two distinct beings, or one? If you are two separate beings, perhaps he can be destroyed while you still live."

Tom nodded gravely. "I see. Have you ever met your future self in Harry's time, Alphard?"

"No." Alphard shook his head and smiled slightly. "Fifty years into the future, I'm already dead, Tom. And in all my travels, I have never once encountered... myself. I never even thought to go and look for Alphard Black during my wandering in time. I heard Sirius talk about me once, though, when I was eavesdropping on a conversation he had with Harry's father. He spoke of me with fondness and seemed to regret my recent death."

Harry got up abruptly. "I suppose the Marauders' Map will know whether you and Voldemort are separate, Tom; it will recognize you for who you are." He reached out for Tom. "Let's travel together, all three of us."

Alphard nodded silently. The three of them walked wordlessly together out onto the darkened Hogwarts grounds. The rain was still drizzling from the night-black sky. Alphard stepped closer to Tom and Harry and wound the long golden chain around the three of them. "Ready?" he whispered. "Here we go, then..."

...

"Lilacs," Tom muttered against Harry's cheek as they landed on the Hogwarts grounds of a different age an instant later. "It smells like spring here."

Dusk was falling now, and the familiar landscape was shrouded in a soft amethyst light that deepened to resplendent shades of gold and copper and fiery red at the horizon. They looked up at the ancient grey castle that towered before them, its stern lines softened by the gentle evening shades.

"Hogwarts." Tom pressed Harry's hand. "It's always the same, even if we are not. It's the only home I've ever known. I showed you around the castle in my time, Harry. Will you show me the Hogwarts you know?"

Harry laced his fingers through Tom's. You. Here at Hogwarts with me, in my own time. Somehow, the very absurdity of Tom's presence in this time made it even sweeter."Shall we? Let's go and find the Marauders' Map. I left it in my dormitory in Gryffindor Tower. Coming, Alphard?"

Alphard's face colored slightly. "Perhaps a little later. There is a certain spot by the lake where Ginny often waits for me; I want to stop there first to see if she is there. If I find her, she can let me into Gryffindor Tower later."

Tom and Harry watched Alphard as he hurried toward the distant sheen of the darkening lake. "How odd it must be," said Tom softly, "to fall in love across time, like Alphard has."

Harry glanced up at him as they walked towards the castle. "And like us, Tom..."

"True." Tom squeezed his hand gently. "But unlike me Alphard doesn't even exist in this time, does he? Right now, there is a gravestone somewhere, bearing the name "Alphard Black", marking the final resting place of a wizard who died years ago. But a part of me still exists out there at this moment, even if his name is no longer Tom Riddle."

They pushed the heavy oak doors open and entered the castle. Only a moment later did Harry recall that there were protective spells and enchantments in place that were suppose to keep Voldemort out of the school. Apparently, the school's own magic doesn't recognize you as Voldemort, Tom.

Harry held his breath as they walked by a few wandering students in the ancient torchlit halls, but no one stopped to ask who Tom was; they merely glanced curiously at the two of them as they walked past. But as they stopped at the entrance to Gryffindor Tower, the stillness of the spring evening was suddenly rent by a harrowing scream.

"It's him! Oh, Godric's beard, it's him! And he's got Harry Potter! Help! For Merlin's sake - someone help!" The portrait of the Fat Lady stared at Tom, an expression of absolute terror on her face. "Sir Cadogan! Sir Nicholas! Violet! Filch! The Dark Lord's got Potter!" Her voice rose in another hysterical high-pitched wail.

The next moment, shuffling feet were heard hurrying along the corridor, and Filch rounded the corner, breathless and triumphant. "What a racket! Someone's going to pay for this! What's going on here?"

"Argus!" The wide-eyed Fat Lady trembled violently in her frame. "The Dark Lord himself! Right heeeere..."

Argus Filch spun around and turned his hawk-like glance to the two boys who waited by the portrait. "The Dark Lord-?" He froze as his gaze fell on Tom. "By Salazar's ghost, what is this? It can't be..."

"Good evening, Argus," said Tom softly. "We meet again, after all these years."

Harry watched in quiet fascination as Filch's knees buckled under him and he sank to the floor. The caretaker's face was whiter than snow. His mouth kept opening and closing, but no sound came out.

"Ah, I see that you do remember me, Filch." Tom turned to Harry. "Now, the password, my love? Oh, please, Lady Gryffindor, there is no need for that..." He waved his wand at the screaming portrait and muted its piercing shrieks.

"Quid agis?" said Harry firmly. The portrait, giving him a silent look of incomprehension, swung aside and revealed the entrance to the tower.

"Shall we, Tom?"

"Just a moment, my love." Tom flicked his wand at the cowering figure on the floor. "Obliviate!" He hesitated for a fraction of a second, then pointed his wand at the portrait and repeated the spell under his breath. "Let's go, before they come to their senses again."

As the portrait hole closed behind them, Harry heard Filch mutter "Was that a...student? Up to mischief?" And the portrait of the Fat Lady said hesitantly: "I'm not sure, Argus. Maybe it was Peeves..."

"Poor Argus," Tom mumbled. "I remember him from the past. Old Apollyon Pringle's squib nephew... A very tiresome little boy he was, too, always trying to get others into trouble. Oh, here we are. Nice." Tom looked around the Gryffindor common room with some interest. "So this is where you've spent your time, Harry. I can imagine you here, daydreaming in front of the fire. Ah, these must be your friends."

"Harry!" Hermione disentangled herself from Ron on the sofa and ran over and flung her arms around Harry. Half a dozen other students glanced up with mild interest. "You are back! And you brought... a friend." She regarded Tom with a little smile.

Harry drew his breath deeply. "This is... this is Tom, Hermione."

"A pleasure to meet you," said Tom serenely and raised Hermione's hand gallantly to his lips. "I have heard a great deal about you."

Hermione's eyes twinkled. "Have you? I wish I could say the same for you, Tom. Ron, come over and meet Harry's friend Tom. Ron? Ron! What are you doing?"

Ron was still sitting immovable on the sofa in the corner, glancing at a piece of parchment that had just fallen out of Hermione's pocket, his freckles dark against the sickly pallor of his face.

"Ron?"

"Harry? Hermione?" Ron's voice was a whisper. "I need you to come over here for a minute. There is something you need to see."

"What's wrong, Ron?" Harry looked at him in surprise for a moment; then he recognized the parchment in Ron's hands. "Oh. The Marauders' Map. Listen, Ron, there is something you should know..."

Ron moved surprisingly fast. One moment, he was sitting on the red velvet sofa in the corner, and the next instant he stood between Hermione and Tom, his wand raised, a fierce expression on his freckled face. "Get away from him, Hermione! You too, Harry. He's not who you think he is. Step back - I'll take care of this. Avada ke-"

"Oi!" Tom reached out and plucked the wand rapidly from Ron's hand. "Careful there, little Gryffindor! He's the protective sort, isn't he, Harry? Quick reflexes, too! I must say I like him. That's the sort of friend you need. I assume this must be Ron?"

"Harry? What's going on?" Neville glanced up from his copy of The Quibbler. Luna was lying with her head in his lap, a serene smile on her face.

"Nothing, Neville. Everything's fine." Harry put a hand on Ron's arm. "I know that this must seem strange to you, Ron, but it's all right. Come up to the dormitory for a moment, you and Hermione, and I'll explain. Bring the map with you."

"But Harry, that's... that's him..."

"Not yet, Ron. He's not him yet. Come on. I'll explain."

"My wand-?" Ron accepted the wand Tom handed back to him without any further comment. Harry could see that he was still clutching the wand hard as they walked upstairs to the dormitory.

"What's going on here?" Hermione sat down on Ron's bed and looked curiously at Tom and Harry. "Ron, why were you attacking him?"

Ron sat down next to her, his wand still pointed at Tom's chest. "Look at the map, Hermione," he whispered. "It will tell you who he is."

Hermione reached for the parchment. The next instant, her eyes widened. "Tom... Tom Riddle?"

"Let me see." Harry took the map out of her trembling hands. "Yes! See here, Tom: It recognizes you as Tom Riddle. Not Voldemort..."

"What?" Ron looked completely baffled now. "Hey, I never thought of that. "Tom Riddle" is his old name, isn't it? Wait, does that mean that he's not You-Know-Who?"

"Not if I can help it," said Tom softly. He kissed Harry's forehead gently.

Ron blinked rapidly. "Wait, why are you... What?" He turned to Hermione. "Hermione, did you see what he just did? To Harry? Hermione, what is happening?"

Hermione sighed. "I love you Ron, but you really can be a little dense sometimes."

...

An hour later, Hermione drew a deep breath and said: "So, let's see if I've got this straight: Tom is here, and he loves Harry, but Voldemort still wants to kill him?"

"And my sister is dating Sirus Black's dead uncle..." Ron was slumped against his pillows, his voice hollow.

"Never mind about that, Ron. And Harry is a horcrux, which means that he is connected to both Tom and Voldemort."

"Do you know where Voldemort is right now, Hermione?" It was Tom who spoke.

Hermione nodded, her face grim. "Rumor has it the death eaters are gathering in Malfoy Manor. I wouldn't be surprised if the Dark Lord is there as well. Draco Malfoy is probably telling Voldemort everything he knows about Harry as we speak."

"Draco Malfoy?" Tom's silver eyes glittered. "Abraxas' grandson? What a fortunate coincidence, Hermione. I want a word with him. Right after I deal with the Dark Lord..." He got up. "I'll be right back, Harry. This should only take a moment."

"What?" Harry glared at him. "You think I'm letting you go there alone? To face him? I'm coming with you, Tom."

Tom groaned. "Don't be an idiot, Harry! Voldemort wants to kill you. You stay right here with your friends, my love."

"Like hell I will!" Harry felt his temper rising now. "I thought we were equals. I'm not going to sit here while you face the Dark Lord. I'm the one who can read his mind, remember? I know more about Voldemort than you do. We are in this together Tom, whether you like it or not."

Tom stood for a moment, lost in thought. Finally, he nodded. "All right. I suppose you are right, Harry. But if anything happens to you..."

*It won't.*

Tom closed his eyes. "Don't distract me with Parseltongue, Harry. Save that for the Dark Lord, will you?"


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case anyone's wondering about the strange name of the house elf in this chapter: "Neck" is an old English name for a type of water spirit.

Tom pointed his yew wand at the wrought iron gates in front of Malfoy Manor. To Harry's surprise, the gates swung open before them before Tom had even uttered a spell.

Tom smiled slightly. "I think Malfoy Manor recognizes me, Harry. It must think that I am Voldemort. Or perhaps the magic of the house remembers my wand. It's rather odd, isn't it? There are now two identical yew wands in this time, one belonging to me, and one to him. I wonder what will happen when we point them at each other?"

They walked in silence up the path that led to the manor house. The gardens were in bloom now. At Hogwarts, spring was always a wild rush of colors, but the gardens of Malfoy Manor were of a paler hue. White lilies, blue-tinged rue and silver-green wormwood grew under pale green weeping willows. Snow-white climbing roses adorned steep iron trellises, and white marble fountains were surrounded by the faded hues of silverweed and artemisia. Ancient yew trees, cut into the shapes of strange beasts, grew along the garden path, fantastic topiaries against the darkening evening sky. The air itself felt different in here, loftier and more austere, as if it belonged to a different, colder spring. The gardens were silent at this hour; no birds were singing. Only the eerie lament of distant peacocks echoed among the trees.

The white manor itself hovered like a ghostly apparition in the deepening twilight, a pale expanse of marble, stretching its tall spires against the dark sky. They walked up the sweeping marble steps and found that the heavy front door opened before them, as the gate had done. They stepped into a vast entrance hall, wands held out in front of them.

"I don't see anyone." Harry's whisper echoed in the silence of the great hall. His glance swept over the solemn dark portraits on the pale walls, the tall, narrow windows with their pointed arches, the dizzying vault of the ceiling far above... No wonder Draco became what he is; who can imagine a child laughing in this hushed cathedral silence? Somehow, I think I'd rather have my cupboard under the stairs.

"Elias? Oh, Merlin, I must be dreaming."

Harry spun around, his wand at the ready. The marble hall was empty, and he couldn't understand where the voice was coming from.

"Up there, Harry," whispered Tom. He pointed his wand at one of the portraits.

"Oh." Harry breathed a sigh of relief as he looked up at the portrait of a handsome man with long white-gold curls. "Hello, Abraxas."

How old was Abraxas in the portrait? Forty? Fifty? Or maybe even older; it was never easy to tell with wizards. His features were more refined and chiseled now, and his face had lost some of its rounded softness, but he was still Abraxas.

"I didn't know that portraits could dream. This is a dream, isn't it, Elias?" Abraxas' voice was soft.

Harry could hear Tom muttering under his breath: "Abraxas. Of course. He just had to be here, didn't he?"

"It's my house, Tom." Abraxas grinned, looking very much like his seventeen year old self all of a sudden. "Where the hell else did you expect my portrait to be? Slughorn's office? Or maybe in Elias' bedroom? You never did forget me, did you, Elias?"

Harry couldn't help laughing. "You are as impossible dead as you were alive, Abraxas."

Abraxas' portrait beamed. "I'd like to think so. I always was a bad influence, wasn't I? Speaking of bad influences, Elias - between you and me, Tom didn't turn out all that great in the end either. He comes by here quite a bit; both Lucius and Narcissa seem to adore him, but I can't help thinking to myself: Elias really would have been much better off with me..."

Abraxas' glance lingered on Tom. He frowned slightly. "This is a dream, right? I've imagined you walking in that door often enough, Elias, but I really don't understand why you brought him along. Tom, I really must insist that you get out of this dream right away. I would much rather be alone with Elias."

Tom pointed his wand at the portrait and said coldly: "It's not a dream, Abraxas. Now, shut up, will you? Any minute now, someone will hear us, and we will lose the element of surprise. Oh, Merlin! I hear someone coming..."

Distant footsteps echoed against marble floors, drawing closer. A solitary black-clad figure stepped into the hall, wand outstretched.

"Who's... who's there?" Draco's voice sounded small in the vast room.

"Hello, Draco," said Harry softly.

Draco looked as if he had seen a ghost. For a moment he stood frozen, staring at Harry with wide eyes.

Then he grabbed Harry's arm and dragged him towards the door. "Are you crazy, Potter? What the hell are you doing here? Don't you know that this is where the Dark Lord and the death eaters gather? No one's here right now; they are all out searching for Harry Potter. Yaxley reported that you'd been spotted near Ottery St. Catchpole, so they all set off to find you. But that was hours ago; they'll be back any minute. Get out, Potter! Quickly, before they find you here!"

"Wait a minute." Abraxas sounded baffled. "This dream is getting stranger and stranger. Why does my grandson think you are that Potter boy they are all looking for, Elias?"

"Shut up, grandfather!" hissed Draco. "Harry, get out of here before the Dark Lord comes!"

"Hey, there's no need to take that tone with me, you ill-mannered child!" Abraxas's voice was indignant. "Merlin, young people these days! And for your information, young man, the Dark Lord is already here."

"He's here? Where?" Draco was deathly pale now.

Abraxas sighed. "Right there, you idiot. Next to Elias, the one you think is Harry Potter."

"What?" Draco stared at Tom, uncomprehendingly. "The Dark Lord? No, grandfather, he's not..." Then his glance fell on Tom's wand, and Draco sank down on the floor, shivering uncontrollably. "You... You are the Dark Lord-?" His whisper was almost inaudible.

"I suppose you could say that." Tom's eyes glittered as he pointed his wand a Draco. "And I will have you know, you treacherous nitwit, that I do not like to have my correspondence intercepted. Why didn't you give me Harry's message? I'm going to hex you for that, you foul little..."

"Oh, leave him alone, Tom." Harry pushed Tom's wand aside, impatiently. "Draco, can you show us the room where Voldemort and the death eaters gather?"

"What?" Draco's voice was a whisper, and his glance was blank with confusion as he looked up at Harry. "But... but Harry, he is vv-Vol..."

Tom sighed. "Oh, just do as Harry tells you, Draco. I'll deal with you later."

"Wait, now even Tom thinks Elias is this Potter boy? I'm getting a headache," muttered Abraxas.

Draco scrambled to his feet and gazed bewildered up at his grandfather's portrait. "Why are you calling him 'Elias', grandfather?" he whispered. "He is Harry Potter..."

Harry and Tom followed Draco out of the hall. Behind him, Harry could hear Abraxas' portrait mutter: "Maybe I shouldn't have encouraged Lucius to marry a pure-blood witch after all. Too much inbreeding among the few remaining pure-blood families, that's the problem. That's probably why my poor grandson isn't quite right in the head..."

Draco led Harry and Tom up an immense marble staircase. There were no portraits or tapestries here to soften the cold beauty of the grey-white marble walls. In the upstairs hallway, they came upon a small frightened house-elf dressed in a ragged sea-green towel. He looked terribly out of place against the flawless marble walls, like a bewildered insect trapped inside the otherworldly beauty of some great basilica. The elf jumped anxiously aside as they approached.

"No need to tell anyone about my guests, Neck," said Draco curtly.

The elf bowed deeply. "Of course not, Master Malfoy, sir." His glance flickered apprehensively to Tom. "Is there anything the Dark Lord requires, sir?"

Tom stared at the elf. "What? How do you know who I am... Neck, is it?"

The elf gazed up at him with enormous sea-green eyes. "House-elves are not easily fooled by appearances, sir. You are the great Dark Lord, sir, and my master told me to obey the Dark Lord in all things."

"I see." Tom swallowed. "I am the Dark Lord?" Harry reached out and squeezed Tom's hand gently, and Draco made a small strangled sound by his side.

"Well..." Tom looked pensively at the little elf. "You are about to see some very strange things, Neck. Some of them may seem impossible, but they will all be part of my plan. I want you to promise me something: No matter what you see, and no matter what is said, I want you to protect this boy right here." Tom touched Harry's face lightly. "Make sure no harm will come to him. From anyone. Not even from me. Do whatever it takes to keep him safe. Do you understand me, Neck?"

The little elf bowed so deeply his forehead almost touch the cold marble floor. "Neck gives you his word, my Lord."

The house elf vanished, and Draco, silent and pale, led Harry and Tom into a vast banquet room. It was cold in here, even on a spring day. Dozens of empty chairs surrounded a long stone table. Draco pointed to the seat at the head of the table with a trembling hand. "That's ... That's where the Dark Lord sits..." He glanced uncertainly over at Tom.

"Excellent!" Harry sat down in the ornate chair and ran his hand over the elaborate serpent carvings. "Then this is where I'll wait for him. Here, Tom, you'd better use this for now." Harry pulled his invisibility cloak out of his pocket and threw the shimmering fabric to Tom. Tom nodded and vanished under the cloak.

A moment later, Harry could feel a hand stroking gently through his hair, and he smiled. "I'll be right behind you, Harry," breathed Tom in his ear.

Draco sank down in one of the other chairs and stared at Harry. "So, Potter... You... The Dark Lord..." His voice didn't seem to be working properly. Draco buried his head in his hands and groaned. "This is all just a dream, isn't it? None of this could possibly be real..."

"It's all real, Draco." Harry leaned back in the chair, his eyes on the door. Any minute now, he will walk in that door...

"How can that be?" whispered Draco. "The Dark Lord wants to kill you, Harry. And yet you wander in here, with someone who is apparently the Dark Lord himself in disguise, and now you are sitting in his chair, waiting for the Dark Lord to arrive, even though he's already here. And my delusional grandfather thinks you are some long dead lover of his named Elias... How can this not be a dream?"

Harry coughed. "I was never your grandfather's lover, Draco. It was just one kiss, that's all."

Draco moaned softly and put his head down on the stone table. "Wait, you kissed my grandfather? You? All right. I get it. This is not a dream. It's a bloody hallucination, that's what it is. It all makes sense now. I, Draco Lucius, the last son and heir of the noble House of Malfoy, have lost my mind; I have gone completely, raving mad..."

Harry sat up straighter, wand pointed at the door, heart racing. He's here. I can sense it. Footsteps and murmuring voices sounded outside.

The door opened with a slow creak, and a pale dark-clad figure entered, followed by a dozen or so other dark, shadowy forms. Voldemort! Harry sensed a sudden thrill of fear, but for a moment, he couldn't tell whether the fear was his own or Tom's. Then he saw the scarlet eyes of Voldemort staring at him with absolute incomprehension, and he suddenly realized that it was Voldemort's fear he had felt.

Voldemort stood frozen in the doorway. Behind him, the dark-clad death eaters gasped and drew their wands. Harry heard his name whispered by many voices, and the whispers, echoed strangely in the great marble hall, made him think of the hiss of a large serpent.

"Draco?" Lucius Malfoy stepped out from the dark flock, staring at his son in disbelief. "Draco, you... found Potter? You managed to bring him here, to the Dark Lord? Oh, well done, my son, well done indeed! I am proud of you."

Draco glanced blankly up at his father for a moment, emitted a strange, hollow little laugh and put his head back down on the table.

"Harry Potter?" Voldemort's voice was soft, no louder than a whisper, and yet there was something about it that made Harry shiver. Tom. Oh, God, his voice sounds like Tom's... "What an unexpected pleasure, Harry. For a moment, I thought I was dreaming. No, Rowle, Dolohov... Put your wands away, it won't do to frighten the boy. Do not touch him; he is mine. He will die by my hand, no one else's."

Voldemort came slowly towards him, wand in hand, walking like someone in a trance. Behind him, Harry could sense Tom's fury and the power of the yew wand that trembled in his hand. But he could also feel something else, a different Tom in front of him, drawing closer and closer. Voldemort. Tom of the future. I am your horcrux, too... He could sense Voldemort's emotions flooding his mind now, darker and more tangled than Tom's. Fear. Anger. Hatred. A cruel need to harm. Possessiveness. And something else: A strange desire, a sweet wanting he doesn't even understand himself...

Harry glanced up into the pallid, inhuman features of the man who had once been Tom. He reached out and brushed the deathly white cheek with his hand.

*Do you remember me, Tom?*

Startled, Voldemort shied back from his touch. "What is this, Harry Potter?"

*Do you remember that you once loved me?*

"He speaks Parseltongue?" Lucius Malfoy's voice seemed to come from far away. "How very odd; Potter's not even a Slytherin. But perhaps there is some Slytherin blood in him after all..."

"Silence, Lucius!" Voldemort's voice was soft, almost kind, but the death eaters took a few hurried steps back. A long, white hand touched Harry's hair almost imperceptibly, then withdrew rapidly.

*I must be dreaming after all. Harry Potter is here, waiting for me, speaking the language of my soul. Tell me, child, how you come to know this ancient magic tongue? Are you, after all, a serpent soul like myself?*

"So the little hero can speak like a snake..." Bellatrix cooed. "Let's see if he can scream in Parseltongue, too-" The next instant, she whimpered on the ground, hit by Voldemort's Cruciatus curse.

"Please, Bella! You interrupt my conversation with my guest." Voldemort's voice was gentle, but as cold as the icy marble walls around them.

Harry felt Voldemort's eyes searching his face, as if he expected to find some answer hidden there.

*How very curious, my child, that you can speak like a serpent. How is that possible? Are you, after all, a descendant of the great Salazar Slytherin as well?"

Harry glanced up into the half-familiar face of the man who was no longer Tom.

*No. I'm not a Slytherin, Tom. I'm you.*

The scarlet eyes widened. *You are me? What do you mean by that, child?*

Harry reached out and touched the pallid face again. Voldemort skin was cold under his fingers.

*Can't you feel it, Tom? I am your soul. I am your horcrux...*

Harry sensed the shock that ran through Voldemort's mind, the strange jolt of recognition.

*You are my... horcrux?*

"Why are you listening to him, my Lord? He is bewitching you through his strange speech. Avada Kedavra!" Bellatrix' furious curse came out of nowhere, a sudden flash of green. The curse would have hit Harry squarely in the chest, but Tom's counter-curse blasted the killing curse back. Bellatrix howled and ducked. All at once, the room seemed to explode in a shower of rapid bursts of light and frantic screams.

Tom threw the invisibility cloak off and fired a series of rapid curses at the approaching death eaters. Dolohov fell to the ground, and Rowle crumpled behind him. Harry caught a sudden glimpse of Voldemort's face, distorted in shock as he caught sight of Tom.

"Stop! Don't hurt them!" But Voldemort's startled whisper was drowned by the sound of the death eaters' screams. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Bellatrix fire another Avada Kedavra curse in his direction. He tried to lift his wand, but he knew in his heart that it was too late. But something fluttered in front of him, something light and small, and it intercepted Bellatrix' killing curse. Harry looked down, and to his shock, he saw that the little house elf Neck, who had not been there a moment before, lay still at his feet. "Oh, Merlin, no!"

Suddenly, Harry felt Draco grabbing his hand. "Harry! You need to get out of here, now! Hold on tight."

The next instant, everything went black. There was no more Malfoy Manor; there was only Draco's hand cluthcing his, and Tom's arm around his shoulder, and a terrible pressure closing in around him from all sides. Harry gasped for breath, but his lungs felt constricted, and it felt as if tight iron bands were wrapped tightly around his body. He closed his eyes.

We just apparated somewhere. We are no longer inside Malfoy Manor. Where are we? When Harry opened his eyes, he saw that he was standing with Draco and Tom on a well-manicured lawn.

"Good idea, Draco!" whispered Tom. "Very quick thinking." He glanced up at the row of identical neat suburban houses. "Now, where on earth are we?"

Draco laughed shakily. "The only place I know of where Voldemort and his death eaters can't get at Harry. Let's hurry inside, before they find out where we are. The protective spells around this house should hold until your seventeenth birthday, Harry."

Harry stared at the flawless home. His heart sank in his chest "How did you even know where this place was, Draco?"

Draco snorted. "Of course I know where this bloody house is, you idiot. It's the only thing the death eaters have been talking about for the past month. The house where Harry Potter goes to hide, the one place where they don't know how to get in. The one place where they can't get in." He walked up the steps and pressed the doorbell firmly.

Tom looked quizzically at Harry. "I don't understand any of this. Where are we, Harry?"

Harry sighed deeply and tucked his wand into his back pocket. "We are at Number Four, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey. Tom, I'm afraid you are about to meet my aunt and uncle."


	17. Chapter 17

"Well, I'd better take off, then..." Draco glanced uncertainly at Harry and Tom. It was dark now, but Harry could make out the faces of his companions in the soft golden light from the street lamp. Draco Malfoy and Tom Riddle. Standing outside Number Four, Privet Drive on a lovely spring evening, talking to Harry Potter. Perhaps this is a dream after all?

Harry shook off the odd feeling of unreality and grabbed Draco firmly by the arm. "Oh no, you are not leaving without us, Malfoy. You can't just dump me here - here, of all places, and just disappear. We are coming back to Malfoy Manor with you."

Draco sighed. "Don't be an idiot, Potter. My aunt fired a killing curse at you, and you want to go back? You are really pushing that "Boy-Who-Lived" thing a little too far, aren't you? Just because you survived the killing curse once doesn't mean you'll do it every bloody time, you moron."

"Draco has a point, Harry." Tom's voice was soft. "The boy has more sense than I thought. It would be the height of folly to go back to Malfoy Manor now, Harry. Better stay here with your family for a while, where you can be safe."

"Safe?" Harry glared at him. "You've never met my aunt and uncle, Tom. I suppose their house is safe, in a manner of speaking, but it's the sort of safety that makes you want to run out and flag down the nearest dementor out of sheer desperation. And besides, I need to talk to Voldemort!"

"But.. but I thought he is the Dark Lord..." Draco gestured vaguely in Tom's direction. "That's what Grandfather said, and the house elf, too. But... No, that can't be right either; they were both there at the same time, he and the Dark Lord. How could they both be there if they are the same person?"

Harry almost felt sorry for Draco. "Yes, I know; it's a little hard to grasp. But if you hadn't been in such a hurry to save my life, you might have noticed that Voldemort - the other one - was talking to me back at Malfoy Manor, not firing killing curses at me like your aunt. And we did not get a chance to finish our conversation."

Tom smiled slightly. "Hm. I do expect that my future self will be very annoyed by... Bellatrix, was it? I wonder why she went against the explicit commands of the Dark Lord? Surely she must know that I will not be pleased."

"Your future self-?" Draco rubbed his hands against his temples. "Okay, now I'm really getting a headache. Why did my crazed aunt fire the killing curse at Harry even though he... you... told her not to? Because she's bloody insane, that's why. Unlike all the other death eaters, she doesn't serve the Dark Lord out of fear; she is actually, well, in love with him, I suppose. Always has been, from the beginning. At least, that's what Mother told me."

"She's in love with me?" Tom made a face. "Merlin help us..."

A ghost of a smile brushed across Draco's pale features. "And I have to admit, Harry, that although I didn't understand what you and the Dark Lord were saying to each other, it sounded rather suggestive. Almost... ahem... erotic, in a strange way. She was probably jealous as all hell. She doesn't want to share the Dark Lord with anybody."

A golden rectangle of light fell over the darkened driveway as the front door of Number Four, Privet Drive opened, and an enormous mustached man peered out into the night. "Hello? Who's there?" Uncle Vernon's voice was gruff, but the moment his glance fell on Draco Malfoy, Harry observed his uncle's pudgy face undergo a singular transformation.

Uncle Vernon gazed at Draco's haughty pale face and expensive clothes with something almost akin to...approval? Respect? Longing? Instead of the fierce growl Harry was expecting, Uncle Vernon emitted a strange unfamiliar sound that sounded almost like a purr. "Yes? How may I help you?"

"Good evening, sir," said Draco pleasantly. "I was merely accompanying Harry and... and..." He looked hesitantly at Tom, as if uncertain how to name him.

Tom stepped forward into the light from the front door. "Good evening, Mr. Dursley. I am Professor Riddle, one of Harry's teachers. I was traveling in this area, so I decided to accompany Harry here myself, so you wouldn't have to go to the trouble of picking him up from the train station, sir. May we come in?"

"Ah." Uncle Vernon studied Tom intently. "You are from... from... that bloody school, are you? A professor, you say?" He blinked rapidly several times. He clearly had no idea what to make of Tom. His glance swept over Tom's handsome features and elegant dark clothes. Apparently, Tom passed muster, for Uncle Vernon said stiffly: "Well, you certainly dress more professionally than the doddering old Santa Claus in a dress who came by here last autumn. Called himself a professor, too, but I had my doubts. I suppose you can come in. Hurry, before the neighbors see you all standing out here. And you, too, of course, my boy." This last part was addressed to Draco; he didn't acknowledge Harry's presence at all. Harry wondered vaguely if he had accidentally put his invisibility cloak on, but he hadn't.

"I don't think I am able come in, sir," said Draco politely.

Harry smiled to himself. Bet you aren't, Draco, not with that Dark Mark on your arm and all the protective spells surrounding this house.

"I should go back home to the Manor before Father sends out a search party." Draco turned to Harry. "Merlin only knows what things will be like back there when I return. If anyone asks, you two disapparated out of there, but I was able to grab hold of you at the last instant and track you here. At least, that is the story I will tell my father. Unfortunately, I was unable to follow you inside once you entered the protected space of your family's dwelling."

Uncle Vernon stared open-mouthed at Draco. Apparently, only a single thing that Draco had just said made any sense to him, for he whispered: "Home? To the... Manor?" He eyed Draco hungrily, as if he were a particularly lucrative contract for drills. "Oh, what's the rush, my dear boy? Won't you come in for a moment? Any friend of my nephew's is of course welcome in our humble home. I'm sure you will enjoy meeting my son Dudley as well. He's always eager to make new friends from - ah - compatible circles."

Uncle Vernon turned to Harry, who was now apparently fully visible to him: "Now, I'm glad to see that you are finally making some nice friends, boy. About time, too! Those red-haired ruffians who came by here in the past-" He shuddered violently at the thought.

"Good-bye, Draco," said Tom firmly. "Give our love to your aunt, if possible. If she is still capable of hearing anything, tell her I will never forget her... er... hospitality. You really should be going. It won't do to keep your parents waiting."

"Draco!" Harry turned to him, desperately. "Tell the Dark Lord that I need to talk to him, please."

Draco nodded briefly and disapparated in a quick flash that left Uncle Vernon reeling in the doorway.

"Tell the Dark Lord? Of course he won't," said Tom under his breath. "We know what a reliable messenger he is."

"Now, that was a nice, civil young gentleman," Uncle Vernon mused to himself, staring at the spot where Draco had been a moment before, "although I really wish he wouldn't do that - that flashy thing in front of the neighbors. Do his parents know that he has fallen in with your lot, I wonder? He might turn out quite decent, that boy, with some firm guidance and some nice normal friends."

He ushered Tom and Harry brusquely into the house. Harry held his breath for a moment as Tom crossed the threshold. If the magic of Malfoy Manor had recognized Tom as Voldemort, surely the spells Dumbledore had cast on Number Four, Privet Drive, would do so as well?

But Tom walked easily into the house. Harry smiled. Perhaps Dumbledore knew that people can change? It wouldn't surprise me if he adjusted the protective spells to allow for the possibility of repentance and transformation. His spells would never let Voldemort in, unless he was no longer Voldemort.

"Who's that, Vernon?" Aunt Petunia appeared in the hallway, wearing a crisp starched apron over her dress. "Oh. Oh, dear." She stared at Harry as if he were a particularly nasty stain on her snow-white marble counter tops. "It's you."

"Afraid so." Harry could feel the familiar dull grey hopelessness seep into him as he glanced around the Dursleys' impeccable entryway. The wooden floors were polished to a soft glow, and a scent of soap lingered in the air. Framed botanical prints showing cross-sections of delicate flowers, dissected for the viewer's edification, adorned the flawless white walls. Three coats hung neatly on hooks by the door, and three pairs of shoes waited in a tidy row on the floor. And there, underneath the elegant staircase, was a small door, leading into a dark, cramped cupboard. That's where the Dursleys stowed away anything that could mar the perfection of their pretty, suburban home. Like him. Harry shivered. Suddenly, he felt as if he were five years old again and afraid of the dark.

Tom followed his glance. "That?" He stared at the little door, aghast. "That is the cupboard where you spent your childhood? But that's not possible, Harry; it's so small. No human being could live in there." He walked over to the cupboard and flung the door open.

"Hey! What are you doing, boy? This is my home; you can't just walk in here and-" Uncle Vernon's voice trailed off as he caught sight of Tom's wand. It seemed to have materialized out of nowhere, and it was pointed at Uncle Vernon's face.

"I will call the police." Aunt Petunia's voice was a whisper. "I will let them know that there is an intruder."

Tom turned his wand slowly to her, and she gave a little gasp and took a few quick steps backwards.

"Do not point that... that thing at my wife!" Uncle Vernon had found his voice again now, and it was growing in volume. "I will not tolerate any of your sick, unnatural hocus pocus in my home, do you hear? I should never have let you in; I was fooled by your polished appearance for a minute. Get out of my house this instant, or I will call the cops on you!"

Tom ignored him and peered into the small, dark cupboard. "Oh, Merlin, Harry. They kept you in here? This isn't even large enough to be a prison cell. I thought the orphanage I grew up in was bad, but this-"

He turned around and met Harry's glance. Tom's face was pale now, but his mouth was set in a thin, determined line. He pointed his wand at the cupboard.

"Confringo!"

The small, white door was blasted off his hinges, and the force of the explosion tore the cupboard to shreds in mere seconds, and half the staircase as well. Tiny splinters of wood and clouds of fine dust flew through the entryway and descended on the polished wood floor like newly fallen snow. Aunt Petunia screamed and pressed herself against the wall. Uncle Vernon stood frozen for a moment, staring at Tom. Then he whispered: "You... you will pay for this. I know you are not supposed to do you-know-what outside of school; they'll have you hauled off to jail for this, just like they should have done to my nephew years ago."

Tom stared at him in disbelief for a moment before he burst out laughing. "No magic outside school? I'm not a Hogwarts student, you dim-witted Muggle. Hauled off to jail? Oh, yes, I can imagine the headlines: Lord Voldemort Finally Apprehended. Charged With Performing Magic Outside School."

"V-V-Vol-?" Uncle Vernon's normally ruddy face was deathly white now.

Tom nodded serenely. "Precisely. I am pleased to see that you know of my reputation. I am a powerful wizard, and I will do magic wherever and whenever I see fit. Normally, wizards do not perform magic in front of Muggles, but if there are no witnesses left-" He raised his wand.

"Tom!" Harry reached out and put his hand on Tom's arm. "Please. You can't kill my relatives."

Tom raised an eyebrow. "Why on earth not, Harry? It wouldn't be murder really, just delayed vigilante justice. It wouldn't splinter my soul even one little bit, I can assure you."

"No, Tom!"

Uncle Vernon was on his knees on the floor now, whimpering. "Please listen to the boy," he moaned. "Don't hurt us! We are the only family he's got. He needs us."

Tom glared at him. "The only family he's got? You kept him locked up in a tiny closet for most of his childhood, for Merlin's sake. You starved him and treated him worse than a slave. And you dare tell me that he needs you? Well, here's what you need, Muggle." He raised his wand again. "Cruc-"

"No!" Harry reached for Tom's wand. "Tom, I forbid you to curse my relatives."

Tom held the wand out of Harry's reach. "Oh, come on! Now you are being downright unreasonable, my love. The Cruciatus curse won't cause them any permanent harm, Harry, you know that. It will just be a little lesson they won't forget in a hurry."

"No."

Tom shook his head and sighed. "You really are the most stubborn, impossible creature I have ever met, my dear. But if you insist... Here. Hold my wand." He handed his wand to Harry and walked over to Uncle Vernon's cowering form. "Look at me! Look at me, you worm! This is for the years Harry spent in that cupboard."

He punched Uncle Vernon in the face, hard.

"Owww!" Uncle Vernon howled in pain and hid his face in his hands. Blood seeped out through his chubby fingers, and Aunt Petunia stared at him in horror.

"Vernon! Oh, my God, you are bleeding!" She gave a strangled little sob.

"And here's for the starvation, and here's for the beatings." Tom delivered two more blows in rapid succession.

Uncle Vernon sank to the floor, wailing. Harry gazed at him in amazement. Why didn't Uncle Vernon get up and fight back? He had certainly dispensed more than his share of blows over the years, but perhaps this was the first time he found himself on the receiving end? Perhaps all bullies really were cowards?

"And as for you..." Tom turned and looked at Aunt Petunia, who was staring at him with large, horrified eyes. "It's as much your fault as his. But I'm not going to hit a woman, and Harry, for some reason entirely unclear to me, does not wish me to use the Cruciatus curse on you." He gave Aunt Petunia a long, lingering glance. Then a slow smile spread over his handsome face. "So I suppose there is only one thing left that I can do to teach you a lesson."

"What?" Aunt Petunia was shaking now, and her voice was almost inaudible.

"I can tell your husband your secret," said Tom softly.

Aunt Petunia was whiter than her spotless walls. "My... secret? What do you mean? I have no secret."

"Don't you? I am not a bad legilimens, Mrs. Dursley. That means that I can read minds." Tom's voice was gentle.

Aunt Petunia opened her mouth, but no sound came out. Harry looked at her with interest. Aunt Petunia had a secret? For the life of him, he couldn't imagine what Aunt Petunia had to hide - except, of course, him. Had she swept dust under the carpet? Failed to iron Dudley's underwear? Imported illegal cleaning solutions?

"It appears, Harry," said Tom, his silver eyes glittering, "that you are not the only one in this household who has the ability to do magic. Your aunt is a witch."

"What?' Harry stared at Aunt Petunia. "No way. You can't be serious, Tom."

"Petunia?" Uncle Vernon's voice was a hoarse whisper. "What is he talking about?"

Aunt Petunia just looked fixedly straight ahead and shook her head. She looked as if she was in shock.

"Petunia! Answer me!" There was a note of panic in Uncle Vernon's voice now. "Tell me it's not true, what he's saying!"

Aunt Petunia hid her face in her hands. "I've tried so hard to make it stop," she whispered, "but it always comes back..."

"You are a witch?" Harry stared at his aunt as if he had never seen her before in his life. "But... But you didn't even go to Hogwarts. You didn't get a letter, like my mother. You are a Muggle!"

"That's what I thought." Aunt Petunia whispered, her face ashen. "I was normal, unlike my sister. I was almost a little jealous of her in the beginning, when our parents went on and on about her wondrous abilities, but I soon realized that I was so much better off, being normal instead of some sort of deviant, like she was. And when my sister died and we were forced to... to take him in -" she nodded curtly in Harry's direction - "well, I was so terribly grateful that my own child was not abnormal like he was. We've had such a nice, harmonious life all these years, except of course for the dreadful summers, when he came back from that horrible school. But apart from him, everything was so perfect. Vernon has been so successful in his career, we have a lovely home, and little Dudley is such a sweet boy. Everything was flawless, but then... things began to happen..." She swallowed. "In the beginning, I thought I was hallucinating. It began with flowers. Tiny ones at first. They showed up all over my beautiful kitchen counters, just moments after I had cleaned. Not pretty bouquets in vases, either, just untidy heaps of wildflowers, popping out all over my kitchen, appearing out of nowhere. As if it were some sort of ma...mag... Oh, I can't even say it! And then one day, when I was looking out the window at Mrs. Next Door walking down the driveway, preening in her new pink dress, thinking she was so pretty, I thought of her covered in grape juice stains, and then suddenly, she was. And the neighbors' shiny new convertible... I didn't mean for them to have that accident; it's just that they were so terribly annoying the way they always waved at us when they were going by..."

"Petunia! What are you saying?" Uncle Vernon's voice was hoarse. "You don't mean that you are one of them, too? You are my wife, for heaven's sake! I simply cannot allow this!"

Aunt Petunia covered her face with her hands and sobbed loudly.

"Hey!" Dudley's round face appeared at the top of the shattered staircase. "Can you keep it down? I can't hear the TV!"

"Careful on the stairs, Duddikins," whispered Aunt Petunia. "They are a little broken right now."

Dudley stared into the abyss in front of his feet, a baffled expression on his face. "But... But how will I get to the kitchen now? I'm hungry."

"Don't worry, Dudders," croaked his father. "We'll get some food up to you in a minute. Just go back to your room for now, that's a good boy."

"Hello, Dudley!" said Tom pleasantly. "You must be Harry's cousin."

"Oh. Hello." Dudley leaned forward a little more. "You are back, are you, Harry? I say, throw me some food up here, will you? I'm starving. Oh, is that the door bell? Did you order pizza, Mum?"

"Don't open that-" said Uncle Vernon weakly, but Aunt Petunia had already dried her tears, straightened her apron and walked to the door, presumably out of sheer force of habit. She opened the door a tiny crack and peered outside.

"Hello!" said a cheerful voice outside. "Oh dear, what a mess! Are you redecorating? We have come for Harry Potter."

"Don't let them in!" hissed Uncle Vernon, but the two visitors had already stepped into the hallway.

"Ginny? Alphard? What are you doing here?" Harry blinked in surprise.

"Giving you a ride back," said Ginny, smiling. "It wasn't easy to find you, but Draco was unexpectedly helpful. Hm. By the looks of things, I would say that you have already overstayed your welcome here. Shall we?"

"Wait! Who is she?" Dudley was staring at Ginny, his mouth open.

Harry sighed. "Dudley, this is Ginny, my ex-girlfriend. Ginny, this is my cousin Dudley, and my aunt and uncle."

"You dated her? Seriously?" Dudley didn't seem able to tear his glance away from Ginny's flaming hair. "But she dumped you, of course. Is she seeing anyone now?"

"Yes I am, Dudley." It was Ginny who answered. "This is my boyfriend, Alphard Black."

"Pleased to meet you," said Alphard gravely.

"Wait a minute!" Uncle Vernon staggered to his feet, wiping blood off his face with his sleeve. "Black you say? You are not related to that crazed mass-murderer Sirius Black, are you?"

Harry wouldn't have thought that Alphard had it in him. The quiet Slytherin boy had always struck him as rather shy and reserved, not all all the type who would knock a large man like Uncle Vernon down with a single blow. And yet, Uncle Vernon was lying in a crumpled heap on the floor before Harry had time to blink, a fresh stream of blood oozing from his plump nose.

"Don't you dare speak of Sirius that way, you- you-"

"Nice right cross, Alphard!" said Ginny admiringly. "Oh, did you break his nose?"

"No, I think that was me," said Tom lightly. "I got a head start."

Dudley leaned over the banister, frowning. "Now, wait, who's he again?"

Harry smiled. "This is Tom, Dudley. My boyfriend."

"Your what?" Aunt Petunia let out a horrified whisper.

"Aha! Well, that explains a lot!" muttered Uncle Vernon. "It all makes sense now. I wouldn't be surprised if all this unnatural behavior is connected somehow. One thing leading to another, no doubt. HEY! You stay away from Dudley, you hear! I don't want any of you abnormal people anywhere near him, do you hear me! I don't want any of that rubbing off on my boy!"

Harry caught Ginny's glance, and they both began laughing helplessly.

"I think we'd better go." Alphard gestured towards the door.

"Hey, Ginny!" Dudley's head showed up over the railing again. "If it doesn't work out with your boyfriend, send me an email, okay?"

"Okay, Dudley." Ginny flashed him her most charming smile, and the four of them headed out into the night. The door closed behind them, and they stood in silence for a minute, breathing in the cool night air.

"Ginny?" Alphard reached for her hand. "What's an email?"

Ginny kissed him softly on the lips. "I have no idea. Some sort of letter, I suppose."

Voices drifted out to them though an open window in Number Four, Privet Drive.

"Petunia, I demand an explanation! What if you have passed this... this horrible aberration on to poor Dudders?"

"Keep your voice down, Vernon; what will the neighbors think?"

"I DON'T CARE WHAT THE NEIGHBORS THINK!"

Harry squeezed Tom's hand and smiled to himself.


	18. Chapter 18

"Let's go back to Malfoy Manor!" Harry turned to Tom.

Tom kissed him gently on the tip of the nose. "Absolutely not, my love. We will do no such thing. The entire purpose of going to Malfoy Manor in the first place was to establish whether Voldemort and I are two separate beings. We have now determined that we are. Now that we understand that, we should retreat to a safe distance - and by that I mean a distance some fifty years into the past - and come up with a plan."

"A plan for what?"

Tom sighed. "A plan for killing Voldemort, of course. What did you think I meant, Harry?"

Harry shook his head slowly. "No, Tom. That won't work at all. I'm not sure I want to kill him, you see."

Tom stared at him. "You don't want to kill him? But Harry, he murdered your parents! He tried to kill you! He has caused immeasurable harm to so many people. Of course we have to kill him."

Harry shook his head, stubbornly. "No. No, we don't. He's you. I thought he would be someone quite different, but he's you. I felt it when I met him. How could I ever wish to kill you?"

"He's not me." There was a flush on Tom's cheeks now. "He's that which I never want to become. If you love me, Harry, please understand that he needs to die."

Harry met Tom's silver gaze. He felt something twist, painfully, in his heart, but he nodded silently.

"I agree that Voldemort must be destroyed." Alphard's voice was calm. "But if we go back to Malfoy Manor and kill him now, nothing will have changed. Harry's parents will still be dead. And so will Sirius and Regulus. It doesn't make any sense to kill Voldemort in this time."

Tom nodded. "You are right, Alphard. It has to be another time, then. Right after he becomes Voldemort. Right after he stops being me."

"Right around the time when Regulus becomes a death eater." There was a slight tremor in Alphard's voice. "I believe that Regulus was the first person Voldemort murdered after his... transformation. If we could go back to that time, we could perhaps destroy the Dark Lord and save Regulus and all his later victims. Including Sirius and your parents, Harry."

Harry swallowed and nodded. I have always known that I would have to kill Voldemort in the end. It's my destiny. I have to do it for Sirius, for my parents, for Tom. So why does it suddenly feel like my heart is breaking at the thought?

"I will do it," said Tom softly. "Lend me the time turner, Alphard, and show me how it works."

"You want to kill yourself?" Alphard regarded him doubtfully.

"In a manner of speaking, yes." Tom smiled slightly. "Oh, don't look so worried, Harry. I will destroy him, but I will come back to you."

"I wonder what would happen if you succeeded?" said Ginny quietly. Her red hair was a flame in the golden glow from the streetlamp. Alphard's dark glance kept drifting back to the fiery tendrils of her hair. "If you killed Voldemort, Tom, and came back to live with Harry in the past, what would happen to Harry in the future? If there is no Voldemort, his parents would still be alive in this time. Would their son still be Harry? Would there be two Harries, one who had met Voldemort and one who hadn't? Would he exist both in the past and in the future?"

Harry reached for Tom's hand. "What a strange thought!" he whispered. "If Voldemort never killed my parents, I would no longer be a horcrux. I would no longer be a part of you, Tom. Or perhaps I would always be you horcrux; but maybe there would be a different Harry as well, one who was unconnected to you."

"Meddling with time always leads to strange and unexpected consequences." Alphard twirled one of Ginny's flaming curls between his fingers. "Thinking about it can drive you crazy. I don't even understand how your journey in time began, Harry. Dumbledore said something about an enchanted memory..."

Harry nodded. "That's right. I wondered at first whose memory it was, but then I understood that it was mine. I was the one who remembered all those things after I returned to my own time, and I was the one who left the memory in Dumbledore's office."

Alphard buried his lips in Ginny's hair. "But that makes no sense at all, Harry. You entered your own memory of the past before you had traveled to the past and experienced the things you remembered. How is that possible? Who could have left that memory there for you before you had even remembered those things? And who enchanted the memory so that you could travel into it? And who wrote to Professor Dippet and told him that you were Elias Black?"

Harry sighed. "I have no idea, Alphard. Maybe I will do all those things myself? No, that doesn't make sense; I would only want to do all those things after traveling back in time and falling in love with Tom... But I only traveled back in time because someone had already enchanted the memory."

"I wonder how one does go about enchanting a memory so someone could travel into it," said Alphard thoughtfully.

"I think there are ways," said Tom softly. "If you had a vial containing a memory, and a time turner, and some rather advanced knowledge of magic-"

"That's what Hermione said!" Harry broke in eagerly. "But she didn't think a regular wizard could do it; it would have to be someone extraordinarily powerful, someone like Dumbledore or... well, like you, Tom."

Alphard turned to Tom. "Do you think you could enchant a memory that way, Tom?"

Tom smiled. "Oh, I suppose. I am rather good at magic, you know. I could probably go back to Dumbledore's office right now and enchant Harry's memory if I could borrow the time-turner, but it really wouldn't explain a thing. There would still be a causal loop: I would only wish to enchant the memory because Harry already traveled into it and fell in love with me."

"Oh, I wasn't just thinking of that memory, Tom." Alphard grinned. "Thinking of that just makes me dizzy. I was wondering if you could enchant a different memory as well, one that I happen to have in my possession. I have some memories that belonged to Regulus. He... he must have known that he was going to die, and he must have wanted to leave the knowledge he had of the Dark Lord behind. I found a few vials after his death. There are several memories in them, recollections of conversations Regulus had with Voldemort. They had quite a few conversations alone, the Dark Lord and my nephew. If someone was able to enter those memories and experience them through Regulus' eyes, they would be alone with an unsuspecting Dark Lord..."

"So if Regulus' memory was enchanted, someone entering it would become Regulus while in the memory?" Tom's silver eyes glittered. "Interesting idea... The Dark Lord would never suspect his assassin. I'm ready to try. Tom Riddle against Voldemort..."

"Or," said Harry quickly, "it might make more sense for someone who could actually read the Dark Lord's mind to become his assassin. If it has to be done, I should be the one to do it. I would have an advantage, Tom, since I can read his mind and you can't."

"Yes, but I've got - pardon me - more experience with murder than you do, my love. You are so terribly soft-hearted, you'd probably end up making out with the Dark Lord instead of killing him."

Harry glared at Tom. "I would not! You are just jealous!"

Tom stroked his hand through Harry's hair. "Jealous? A little bit, yes. But my point..."

"Ahem. Perhaps we should take this conversation elsewhere." Ginny glanced up and down the quiet suburban street. "Draco did say that the death eaters have been keeping an eye on this house for a while now."

"Excellent idea, Ginny." Alphard reached for her hand. "Let's stop by the headmaster's office at Hogwarts, shall we? Tom, you can enchant Harry's memory, and the rest of us can watch you and get a headache trying to figure out the time paradoxes involved."

...

The four of them walked through the near-empty torchlit corridors of Hogwarts together. It was quite late now, and there were very few students about. Harry suspected that many of the students had left the school a few days early anyway; there had been a great deal of frantic packing going on that afternoon.

The insubstantial form of the Bloody Baron floated gently by them.

"What?" A little ripple ran through the Baron's evanescent form. "But this is not possible! I... I know all four of you, but you can't all be here together, at the same time. I must be dreaming..." He drifted off, a perplexed expression on his spectral features.

They paused in front of the headmaster's door. "Acid pops?" suggested Harry hopefully, but the door didn't budge. Of course the password won't work. This isn't Dumbledore's office any more, is it?

"Acid pops?" Tom laughed. "In Professor Dippet's time, the passwords were always very solemn and erudite, like chrysopoeia or Ein Sof. But acid pops?"

Ginny looked thoughtfully at the door. "It's McGonagall's office now, Harry, and I have no idea what sort of password she would have chosen. Something about cats, perhaps?"

Harry thought for a moment. McGonagall must have changed the password since his last visit, shortly after he had asked her about Elias Black and Slughorn's party.

He turned to the door. "Moonflower punch?"

To his relief, the heavy oak door swung open before them.

McGonagall was not in, but the large, airy office bore traces of her presence now. There were more books stacked on the desk than ever, Fawkes' cage was gone, and little potted plants that Harry recognized with as catmint lined the windowsill.

There was a new portrait on the wall as well; Dumbledore waved cheerfully at them from his frame. "Nice to see you, Harry! And you too, of course, Miss Weasley. Mr. Riddle and Mr. Black - it's been a long time."

Harry gazed up at the portrait. "You - you must be surprised to see us all in here together, Professor."

Dumbledore peered at him over his half-moon glasses. "Oh, old men are not so easily surprised, Harry." A smile was hovering behind his beard.

Harry studied the familiar face. "Sir, is all of this your doing?"

"All of what, Harry?"

"About a week ago, I traveled into a memory of the past. Did you enchant that memory, sir, to make that possible?"

Dumbledore shook his head and beamed genially at him. "No, I didn't Harry. But I believe Tom is about to take care that little matter for you."

Tom held up a small glass vial. "Is this the one, Harry?"

Harry nodded silently, and Alphard handed Tom the time turner.

"Now, let's see..." Tom muttered some spells in a language Harry didn't recognize.

"Elamite? Nice touch, Tom." Dumbledore's portrait sounded rather pleased. "I wouldn't have thought of that myself."

Harry gazed up at the familiar face in the portrait. "Do you remember meeting me in the past, sir? Do you recall that I once attended Hogwarts under the name 'Elias Black'?"

"Well of course, Harry! How could I possibly forget?" Dumbledore smiled.

"Were you my mysterious guardian, then? The person who wrote to Professor Dippet and told him my name was Elias Black?"

Dumbledore's steady blue gaze met his. "I'm afraid not, Harry. I do like the name Elias, though."

"There! All done!" Tom held up the glass vial. "Now this memory needs to appear in this office about a week ago..."

"I can take care of that." Alphard held out his hand. "And I suppose I can write a letter to Professor Dippet and tell him that Elias Black will be coming to Hogwarts and mail it a few days before Harry arrived in the past..."

"Good thinking!" Dumbledore nodded approvingly. "And don't forget to arrange for his school trunk to be sent to Hogwarts as well!"

"But I still don't see how any of this works." Alphard sighed. "If we change the past to what it needs to be in order for the present to have happened, we are just creating an infinite loop in time, a circle with no beginning and no end."

Dumbledore chuckled. "You know, I have often asked myself which came first, the phoenix or the flame. Oh, the door! Someone's coming."

The office door was flung open, and Harry's heart leaped in his chest as two familiar figures entered. McGonagall and Slughorn. It's too late to hide now - I wonder how they will react to seeing Tom and Alphard here in this time?

"Well, I'm sorry, but I'm not sure how I feel about that, Horace," McGonagall was saying, somewhat irritably, as she entered the room. "I understand your interest in Professor Dumbledore's book collection, of course, but I rather think that his books should stay in this office."

"But my dear Minerva, I'm quite sure that Albus would have meant for me to have..." Slughorn stopped dead in his tracks.

The two professors stood frozen for a moment and stared at the unexpected visitors.

"Tom?" Slughorn clutched his chest, as if he were about to have a heart attack. "Oh, sweet Merlin! Tom? It's you? But how is that possible-?"

McGonagall came to her senses first. "I don't know how this is possible, but I know who he is." She whipped out her wand and pointed it at Tom. "Harry! Ginny! Get away from him, now! Stand back!"

"I wouldn't do that if I were you, Minerva."

McGonagall glanced up at Dumbledore's portrait. "Why on earth not? That's Tom Riddle, Albus. Harry, take your hand away from him - I need a clear shot."

"I don't think so, Professor." Harry stepped in front of Tom, shielding him with his body.

"Harry! What are you doing?" McGonagall gave an exasperated groan. "Harry, he's Voldemort! He just looks a little different at the moment, but I know who he is. Get away from him, Harry!"

"Wait... Alphard Black?" Slughorn whispered. "Minerva, I recognize the other one now. He's Alphard Black, Cygnus' and Walburga's brother. But he died years ago... How can he be here with Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley? This doesn't make any sense. I must be dreaming..."

"Oh, enough of this!" Ginny pointed her wand firmly at McGonagall. "Obliviate!" She turned her wand to Slughorn and repeated the spell before he had time to react.

"Nice work, Miss Weasley!" Dumbledore's portrait chuckled.

Ginny glanced at the two professors who stood immovable and stared blankly ahead. "Oh, dear. I hope I did that right. I've never done that spell before. I hope I didn't cause any permanent damage to their memories."

Alphard grabbed her hand. "I'm sure you did fine, Ginny. Let's leave before they recover and discover us here again, shall we?"

"Give my best to my past self," called Dumbledore cheerfully after them as they headed for the door. "Ah, the good old days! Sometimes I do wish I could travel back in time and see that horrible Christmas pantomime again. Ah, what a hilarious disaster that was!" The portrait wiped tears of laughter from its wrinkled cheeks.

Harry turned in the doorway. "Why? What happened, Professor?"

"We don't have time for that, Harry." Tom dragged him out the door. "Alphard is right; McGonagall and Slughorn will come back to their senses any minute now."

"But I want to know what happened-"

"Well, then we'll just have to go back and see for ourselves, won't we?"

...

"There you are, Elias!" Abraxas beamed as Harry sank down next to him at the Slytherin table at dinner. "What have you been up to all afternoon?"

"Oh-" Harry helped himself to roast and vegetables, suddenly ravenous. "This and that. I went for a walk with Tom Riddle." Funny, how hungry you get when you travel in time and live through an extra half day between tea and dinner.

"Really?" Abraxas' eyebrows shot up. "But it was raining! If you catch a cold and miss the next Quidditch match, I will hold Riddle personally responsible."

"Speaking of Quidditch..." Orion glanced up at the enchanted ceiling above them. "I think it's stopped raining. If we put some torches up, we might be able to practice for an hour or so after dinner."

"Don't be silly, Orion," Cygnus shook his head and reached for the potatoes. "You know the teachers won't permit us to play outside in the dark."

"All we need is permission from one teacher." Abraxas grinned. "I'd ask Slughorn myself, but he has been a little cranky lately. Elias, why don't you ask Riddle? He seems to like you."

Harry glanced up at the staff table, where Tom was sitting, immersed in conversation with the portly Slughorn. Yes, I do think he likes me. Hey, Tom, I'd like to play Quidditch with my friends! Tom looked up for a moment and smiled.

When dinner was over, Tom strolled casually by the Slytherin table on his way out. "I say, Abraxas, it's stopped raining. Why don't you take the Quidditch team out for a bit of practice? It's dark out, but you can always use magic to light a few torches. You have my permission."

"Really?" Abraxas lit up. "Thanks. Wow, that was easy; we didn't even have to ask. You're a good sport, Professor. Let's go out there quietly, people, so the Gryffindors won't notice us and get the same idea."

"Don't worry - I'll try to distract the Gryffindor captain..." Araminta caught John Lupin's glance across the hall.

...

"I wonder what on earth Araminta sees in Lupin," muttered Cygnus as they headed out to the torchlit Quidditch pitch.

"She says he's got some sort of animal magnetism." Druella was coming along to watch the practice. "Can't say I see it myself."

"Ah, never underestimate animal magnetism." Orion set the box with the balls down on the darkened ground. "It drives the ladies wild sometimes. I'm speaking from experience, of course."

"I heard Lupin used to date a Muggle girl back home." Eileen Prince had joined them now. "A neighbor of his, apparently. Can you imagine dating a Muggle?" She grimaced.

Harry sighed to himself. Oh, one day you will date a Muggle, too, Eileen, and not a pleasant one either. I wonder if Lupin's Muggle girlfriend is Remus' mother? Surely, this ridiculous fling between John Lupin and Araminta will be over soon? The moment she mentions how she feels about Muggle hunting, he will probably run away screaming. At least, I hope he will.

"Ready, Elias?" Orion released the fluttering snitch from the case.

Harry grinned. "Ready!"

Flying through the chilly evening air felt fantastic. It was a little difficult to see the snitch by torchlight, but Harry let his instincts take over, and he caught the little golden ball again and again, while dodging the bludgers Cygnus and Orion sent flying by. Tiberius MacLaggen was an excellent chaser, and so was a sullen dark-haired boy named Mordred Nott. The fair-haired Alloysius Avery wasn't quite as good, but MacLaggen and Nott made up for it.

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry could see someone approaching the Quidditch pitch. He was half hoping it would be Tom, but it was only Slughorn. Harry felt vaguely surprised; he had never taken Slughorn for a Quidditch fan.

"Elias! Elias Black!" Slughorn was calling his name softly.

Harry sighed and landed his broomstick. "Yes, professor?"

"Ah, you are an excellent Quidditch player, I see." Slughorn shot him an approving glance. "You are a young man of many talents, Elias. I am sorry to interrupt your game, but I have a pleasant surprise for you. A visitor is waiting for you at the castle."

"A visitor?" Harry looked blankly at the potions professor. He couldn't for the life of him imagine who his visitor might be.

"Yes, my dear boy. Cygnus, will you be a dear and carry Elias' Quidditch things back to the castle for him? I know that you did not expect to see your guest here in the middle of the semester, but he tells me that he happened to be traveling in the area, so naturally he wanted to stop by and see you."

"Who?"

"Ah." Slughorn smiled mysteriously. "I told you it would be a surprise. Why, your guardian, of course! He is waiting for you in the headmaster's office."

Harry blinked. "My... guardian? Here? In the headmaster's office? But how can that be-?" His mind was reeling. But my mysterious guardian doesn't exist, does he? Alphard wrote the letter to the headmaster and arranged for my trunk to be sent here. I thought my guardian was just a necessary invention, to lend credence to Alphard's letter? He's real? He's an actual person? He's here?

Harry tried desperately to imagine who could be waiting for him at the castle, but his mind drew a blank. My guardian? Could it possibly be Sirius? No, Sirius is still dead. Could it somehow be Sirius from a different future, a Sirius who never disappeared behind the veil?

"Such a pleasant gentleman, your guardian," said Slughorn softly as they walked together towards the castle. "One can tell, of course, that he is a man of refined tastes. He must have been quite a good-looking man before the tragic accident."

"Accident?"

Slughorn sighed. "Poor man, to be disfigured like that..." He shuddered.

Harry's mind was swirling. Mad-Eye Moody? Visiting from the future? No, no one in their right mind would characterize the gruff one-eyed one-legged Mad-Eye as "a man of refined tastes".

He gave up and followed Slughorn in bewildered silence to the headmaster's office.

"Ah, you found him, Horace!" Professor Dippet greeted them with a radiant smile. "My dear Elias, I have just had the pleasure of meeting your guardian. Such a charming man! He's naturally very eager to see you, my dear boy."

Harry's glance traveled to the cloaked figure sitting in one of the headmaster's comfortable armchairs. The man got up and walked towards him, brushing aside the hood that partially covered his face.

"Finally!" The man's voice was soft. "You can't imagine how anxious I have been to see you, Elias."

Harry stared at the familiar figure in disbelief.

It was Voldemort.


	19. Chapter 19

Harry stared at the familiar figure of Voldemort. Somehow, the Dark Lord seemed terribly out of place here in the headmaster's office at Hogwarts: a shard from a dark future tearing at the fragile fabric of a more innocent past.

Voldemort? Here at Hogwarts, in this time? How can this be? I am dreaming, of course I am dreaming. Or perhaps it is this sweet, unblemished past that is the dream, and the dark Voldemort and I the only real people in it.

The dark shape drew closer. His eyes are different. He has done something to them, cast some glamour perhaps, so that they appear to be grey rather than crimson. Strange, how that makes him seem more like Tom. And yet they are not quite Tom's eyes; Tom's gaze is silver, and his is a darker grey, like weathered stone or rainy skies.

"My dear child!" Voldemort's voice was strangely gentle. Harry thought his heart would stop as a dark cloak whisked around him and folded him in a sudden, unexpected embrace.

"Ah, how touching!" Professor Dippet's little chuckle seemed to come from somewhere far away. "Such paternal tenderness!"

"How good to see you, Elias." Voldemort clasped him tightly as he spoke in a warm, pleasant voice that seemed to belong to some stranger. The voice of my grey-eyed guardian. For a moment, Harry could almost imagine that the arms that were wrapped around him were not Voldemort's at all, but rather those of a long-forgotten friend and protector, an imaginary guardian from half-remembered daydreams.

But the silver voice that whispered in his ear a moment later was more familiar: "You smell like rain..." It was the voice Harry had heard in a graveyard, far away in a distant future. Voldemort. How odd, to think that I have known you long before I ever fell in love with Tom. In the beginning, there was just you and me.

"Rain? It was beginning to drizzle again, out on the Quidditch pitch," whispered Harry, trying desperately to figure out whether he was awake or dreaming.

Voldemort's cloak, pressed against Harry's face, felt rough against his cheek. Harry breathed in an unfamiliar scent of damp wool and fog and musk. It was Tom's scent, and yet not Tom's at all. Harry lifted his face, and suddenly he felt Voldemort's cheek linger against his own for a moment. The soft, unexpected caress took Harry's breath away. He could hear the rushing of blood in his ears and somewhere, very near, a gentle breathing. He sensed a pulsing beat somewhere, a heavy rhythm, but it took him a moment to understand that it was Voldemort's heart, beating against his own chest.

The embrace lasted only for a brief moment. Then the stranger - Voldemort, Harry reminded himself - turned and began to exchange a few conventional pleasantries with Professor Dippet and Slughorn, while Harry stood silently by his side. Harry was unable to look at Voldemort's face; his bewildered glance lingered on the sleeve of the dark cloak. Black. Voldemort always wore black. Harry realized that he had always vaguely thought of Voldemort's cloak as a shroud of night-black darkness that surrounded him, an absolute impenetrable blackness. But now that he saw the cloak so close, in the warm, flickering lamplight of Professor Dippet's office, Harry saw that the blackness was an abstraction; the cloak was not entirely black after all. It was only at a distance that its fabric seemed all black; up close he could see that the coarse material of the cloak had thin, almost imperceptible threads of verdigris and charcoal and silver running through it. Strange, how different things appear when they are this close. Even Voldemort's cloak. Even Voldemort.

"I know you wanted to talk to me, Elias. I apologize for not coming to see you sooner, but it took me a while to be able to... get away." Voldemort's voice had become that of a stranger again. He turned to Armando Dippet, who was regarding them with a little smile. "Headmaster, is there a place where I can speak to my ward alone? We have a great deal of catching up to do, you see, and I do not want to continue to trespass upon your hospitality by staying here in your office so late in the evening."

Professor Dippet beamed. "Yes, of course! You are more than welcome to use my sitting room; it is right through here." He waved his wand at the far wall of the headmaster's office, and a door appeared. "Make yourselves at home. I do apologize for the rather somber atmosphere of this room; it belonged to Professor Phineas Nigellus Black before me, you see. His tastes were somewhat ...ah, bleaker than my own, but try as I might to add some cheerful touches to the room, it always changes itself back again. Some sort of dark magic, I suspect. He was a powerful magician, Professor Black. Now, Elias is technically supposed to be in bed in an hour, but I have no objection to bending the rules a little on this happy occasion. I do hope you will consider staying a few days, sir; I would love to hear more about your travels in Assam."

"Thank you, Professor. I will consider you kind offer." Voldemort opened the door to Professor Dippet's sitting room. "Shall we, Elias? We have a great deal to discuss, my dear."

Harry walked hesitantly towards the door. Tom. I need to let Tom know that Voldemort is here.

"I would of course be eager to discuss my ward's academic progress with his teachers." Voldemort's voice was calm and pleasant. "Perhaps Professor... Riddle, is it, my dear? The one you have been working so closely with?... would be able to join us in a little while? But first, I really need to speak to you alone for a little while, Elias."

"Ah, yes, of course! I will send a message to Tom Riddle," chirped Dippet happily.

"Thank you, Professor." Voldemort steered Harry into the sitting room, and the door closed behind them. The vast and gloomy room lay shrouded in shadows. As they entered, pale wax candles impaled on silver wall sconces flickered to life, and a fire of an unnatural bluish hue began to glow in the black marble fireplace. As the dim light spread slowly through the room, Harry could begin to make out elegant chairs, gleaming mahogany tables and looming bookcases filled with ancient volumes bound in black morocco. Over the fireplace hung a rather dreadful amateur painting of an unnaturally sunny landscape, painted in garish hues. Others like it adorned the walls, but the other landscapes had already begun to change; the cheerful shades of yellow had deepened to a rather menacing blood-red. Apparently, Phineas Nigellus Black's sitting room would not tolerate the sunny optimism of Professor Dippet's art.

Harry half expected Voldemort to draw his wand, or to summon the dread dementors to his side, but the Dark Lord merely glanced around the dim sitting room with an air of mild curiosity, as if he really were Harry's guardian, taking an interest in his ward's school environment. Voldemort regarded the picture over the fireplace with a slight frown. "Oh, dear. Old Dippet must have painted this himself. I had no idea he had artistic pretentions. How very wise of him to keep them to himself." He smiled slightly at Harry. "I used to know him, of course, back when I was Tom Riddle. I don't think he recognizes me anymore. He never was a very observant man, Armando Dippet."

"My unknown guardian, the one who brought me to this time in the first place – it was you, all along?" whispered Harry.

But Voldemort shook his head. "I have no idea what brought you to this time, Harry. I am rather curious about that myself."

"But Slughorn… he said you were my guardian…"

"Ah, yes. A little deception on my part, I'm afraid." There was a slightly apologetic note in Voldemort's voice. "I had learned of your mysterious guardian, and assuming his identity seemed like a good way to get to speak with you alone. Horace is and always will be a rather gullible man, as you may know. Has he attempted to make you part of his collection yet?" The little glint in his eyes reminded Harry, suddenly and irresistibly, of Tom.

Harry couldn't help smiling slightly. "Yes, he has. Both in this time and in the future." He sank down into a puffy chair upholstered in black fur. "What... what are you doing here?"

"What am I doing here?" The familiar figure stood immovable for a moment, a silent shadow in the flickering candlelight. "I came here to find you, Harry. You sent me a message that you wanted to see me. How could I not come, now that I know that you are my horcrux? You are my soul, Harry. Oh, don't shiver like that, child! I could never harm you now that I know who you are."

"You got Draco's message, then?" Harry tried to keep his voice steady. "But how... how can you be here? In this time? How did you get here?"

"Oh..." An almost imperceptible smile brushed over Voldemort's pallid features. "You are not the only one who can travel through time, Harry." He reached under his dark cloak and pulled out a golden chain with a small mechanism attached to it.

Harry stared at the delicate golden clockwork. "A time-turner? But I thought all the remaining time-turners were destroyed at the Ministry of Magic?"

"They were." Voldemort turned his face so it was half-hidden in the shadows now. "And the magic used to create them was lost. But anything that has been invented once can be invented again, with some patience. I made myself another time-turner. They are not easy to build, time-turners, but as you may have gathered, I am quite good at magic. I am also a rather determined man, Harry. And once I realized who you were... Oh, what a fool I have been! I longed for immortality, and I was ready to murder you to achieve it. I didn't realize that you are my immortality. I almost destroyed you once to get at the philosopher's stone. How could I not have seen it? You were the true stone, not that lifeless jewel. My immortal soul is housed within your fragile body, merged with your own. We are one, you and I. You are my soul, my horcrux. Of course I had to find you, Harry."

Harry glanced at the pale, familiar figure. Tom? Now there is something in your voice that reminds me of Tom. Perhaps you are Tom after all... "You... you invented a time-turner from scratch since we met at Malfoy Manor earlier today?"

"Earlier today? Yes, I suppose it would have been earlier today, for you, Harry." Voldemort stepped closer, and Harry thought for a moment that the Dark Lord would reach out and touch him, but he didn't. He paused, almost hesitantly, a few feet away from Harry, the golden time-turner in his hand. "It took me almost ten years to build this, Harry."

"Ten years-?"

Voldemort nodded gravely. "It became the Dark Lord's new obsession: Making a time-turner. In the beginning, quite a few of my death-eaters complained about it; apparently, they had expected to be part of something grander than the conquest of time. I silenced them quickly, and the few that... remained, shall we say... learned to adjust rather rapidly to the idea that the Dark Lord would now rather vanquish time than the wizarding world."

"Bellatrix? Did she...?"

"Bellatrix?" Voldemort seemed mildly surprised at the mention of the name. "Oh, she met with an unfortunate accident almost immediately after we last saw each other, Harry. What did you expect? I couldn't let any harm come to you or... or to him..."

"Tom." Harry looked down, but he could feel Voldemort's gaze scrutinizing his face.

"Tom, yes. He is me, isn't he, Harry? My younger self? I suppose he will come and find us shortly. I wonder how he will react to seeing me here, in this time?"

Harry shook his head slowly. "Not too well, I expect."

"Perhaps not." Voldemort's silver voice seemed to flow into Harry's bloodstream somehow. It made it terribly difficult to remember clearly that Voldemort and Tom were two different beings. "I must confess that I am rather curious to meet him. I understood who he was, of course, once I saw him with you in Malfoy Manor. How could I not recognize... myself? And then I heard Abraxas Malfoy's portrait rambling on about Tom Riddle and a boy named Elias, a friend from his youth who bore such a startling resemblance to Harry Potter. Elias Black, the boy without a past, whose nameless guardian had sent him to Hogwarts… Slowly, I began to put things together, and I realized that if I wanted to find you, I would need to go back to the time when Abraxas Malfoy was a student at Hogwarts, and Tom Riddle was still a boy with dark curls and grey eyes..."

"Do you remember, then?" Harry's voice came out as a whisper. "Do you remember me? Do you remember being Tom? Do you remember us?"

Voldemort hesitated for a moment. "I… I don't know, Harry. I remember being Tom Riddle, of course, and I recall being a student here at Hogwarts. But Abraxas had this strange notion that I was once a professor here. I do not remember that, although I suppose I would rather have liked teaching at Hogwarts. I did apply for the post of Professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts, of course, but Dippet had the nerve to turn me down. He said I was too young, can you believe it? But you, Elias Black and Harry Potter, time traveler, my archenemy, and my soul - Do I remember you, in the past, from the time when I was Tom Riddle?" The dark grey glance lingered on Harry's face. "Not... not quite. And yet, there is something that hovers, at the very edge of my consciousness, something like the shadow of a memory. How do I explain this? I knew a girl once, when I lived in the Muggle orphanage, a very strange little girl who believed in all sorts of odd things-"

"Perdita. Yes." Harry couldn't help smiling. "You told me about her, and about all the other children at the orphanage that first night we... I mean Tom and I... spent together."

"So Abraxas Malfoy was right, then?" Voldemort's voice was a whisper. "You and... and Tom are... more than friends? You are lovers?"

Harry felt the blood rushing to his cheeks. He did not want to meet Voldemort's glance, but he nodded briefly.

"I see. I wish I could remember that…" Something in Voldemort's voice sent a shiver down Harry's spine.

You wish you could remember? Harry closed his eyes and tried to read what went through the Dark Lord's mind, but all he could sense was the image of his own face and the messiness of his own black hair.

"Sometimes," said Voldemort in a low voice, "I feel as if I am on the verge of remembering. That odd little girl, Perdita, she was always talking of things like aliens and other worlds and the reincarnation of souls. Most of it was Muggle nonsense, of course, but I do remember what she said about reincarnation. She said that recollections of past lives are always lingering on the borders of our consciousness. Most of the time, those hazy recollections are too fleeting to grasp; there is all this other life that lies like a thick grey mist over our recollections of past lives and hides them from our sight. But sometimes we sense them anyway, in brief lucid moments when we remember things that we shouldn't: Sometimes we remember, with impossible clarity, places where we have never been, lines from poems we have never read, the expressions of faces we have never seen. Sometimes we open a book in a strange ancient tongue for the first time and feel a sharp chill along the spine, a tingling of a long-lost memory: I know this ancient language, even though my ears have never heard it spoken, and my eyes have never seen these runes of old until today. You ask me if I remember you from the past, Harry. Perhaps I do... But I remember you like Perdita claimed to remember her past lives: Just a shadow of a recollection, an uncertain presence, fleeting, like an image from a dream..."

Harry swallowed. "So you remember Tom Riddle, the way he was before he became you. But when you changed, when you became Voldemort, the memories of that Tom were frozen in your memory, and they never changed when he changed."

"And yet..." Voldemort whispered. "And yet, Harry, there is something in my soul that seems to be on the verge of remembering loving you. I cannot tell you when that whisper in my soul began; I only became aware of it that day we met at Malfoy Manor. But it seems to me that it was always there, as an echo of something long forgotten that I couldn't quite recall... I don't know how to explain that." The dark grey eyes met Harry's.

"Tom… Tom wants to kill you…" Harry struggled to get the words out.

"To kill me?" Voldemort seemed to ponder this quite seriously for a moment. "Yes, I suppose he does. It cannot be easy, to learn that the person you could have been also exists. What about you, Harry? Do you wish to kill me?"

Harry looked up at the man who was neither quite Tom nor completely not Tom. "I don't know," he whispered. "There is a prophecy that says that one of us will kill the other in the end... I suppose I have always believed in that prophecy. Until now…"

"The prophecy about the Dark Lord and the Boy Who Lived." Voldemort gazed into the blue flames that flickered in the fireplace. "Yes. I am... quite familiar with that prophecy, Harry. I have always taken it rather seriously, you know, but the outcome seemed rather obvious. I am a powerful wizard, and you were a mere child; of course I was going to kill you. But you are my horcrux… That does rather complicate things, doesn't it?" He sat silently for a moment, seemingly engrossed in the blue shimmer of the fire. Then he said softly: "Of course you cannot die, Harry. You are so infinitely precious to me now. But on the other hand, I have no desire to embrace death myself either. And yet, there exists a prophecy that says that one of us must die at the hands of the other."

Harry reached out, impulsively, and touched the dark cloak hesitantly. "I don't want to kill you. I can't kill you. I love Tom, you see, and I keep asking myself if you are still Tom. Are you Tom, or are you Voldemort, another being altogether?"

"And what is you answer, child?" Voldemort's hand stroked softly through his hair.

Harry shivered. "You are... you. Just you. Beyond names, beyond appearance, beyond past or future. You are you. And so is Tom. How can I want you to die?" He swallowed. "And yet you murdered my parents and other innocent people, and caused endless grief and suffering. If you were to die, their lives could be restored. And if you were to die, Tom would be free of your shadow. How can I not want you to die? Perhaps…" He met Voldemort's glance for a long moment. Then he whispered in Parseltongue: *Perhaps I will kill you with a kiss in the end.*

Voldemort laughed. His grey eyes glittered. *Perhaps I will let you, if you promise the kiss.*

Harry felt Voldemort's lips brush through his hair. The Dark Lord whispered: *But I wouldn't be so certain that it would be the end.*


	20. Chapter 20

"Ah. We are about to have company, Harry." Voldemort withdrew his touch rapidly. "He is near; I can feel it. Tom Riddle is coming. How very strange it feels, to wait for the person I once was to walk through the door!"

Harry could sense it as well now: Tom, his Tom, was close by. A moment after, the heavy oak door creaked open, and Tom entered, wand outstretched. Tom's eyes widened when he saw Voldemort by Harry's side.

"You?" Tom's voice was a hoarse whisper, and the yew wand shook slightly in his hand. "Harry's guardian is... you? No, this can't be. This must be a nightmare of some sort."

Tom and Voldemort stood motionless for a moment, staring at each other. Then they began to walk slowly towards each other, as if some magnetic force pulled them irresistibly together. They paused mere inches apart and stood gazing at each other in silence. Tom reached out and touched Voldemort's pallid features with a trembling hand. Harry felt two simultaneous waves of sensations flood his mind at the touch: He sensed Tom's hesitant wonder at the smooth coolness of Voldemort's face, and Voldemort's awareness of the warmth of Tom's hand. Then Tom pulled his hand back, and a slight blush spread over his cheeks.

Harry gazed mesmerized at the two figures, Tom from the past and Tom from the future, and marveled at how curiously similar they were. Their appearances were different, of course: Tom's face was flushed, beautiful, full of life, while Voldemort's pale features were cold, distorted, lifeless. But underneath the blush of life and the pallor of death, Harry saw a strange likeness in the contours of the bones under their skin, in the almost graceful curves of their limbs, and in the shapes of their dark silhouettes against the flickering candles.

"Tom." It was Voldemort who spoke first, so softly that Harry wasn't quite sure at first that he had actually said the name out loud. "What a pleasure it is to see you! You are quite different from what I expected." He traced the lines of Tom's face with a long, pale finger and smiled slightly when Tom winced. "You are far more beautiful than I remembered, even from our all too brief encounter this afternoon. I must admit that I was rather startled to learn that Harry is your lover - and willingly, at that - but now I think I can see how such a thing can be possible. Why, your face is almost as lovely as his!" There was a faint note of wonder in Voldemort's voice.

"What... What are you doing here?" Tom took a step back. His voice was cold. "You have no business here; this is my time, not yours."

An almost imperceptible smile ghosted over Voldemort's face. "Oh, just visiting an old friend of mine." He walked calmly over to Harry and brushed his hand lightly through his hair. "We have known each other for a long time, you see, Harry and I. I received a message that Harry wanted to speak to me, and I was more than happy to oblige."

"Don't touch his hair!" Tom's wand was trembling in his hand. "I don't understand how you came to be here, in this time, but I'm telling you right now: Leave Harry alone, or I will blast you out of time altogether."

"Really?" Voldemort sounded amused. "I never thought of you as self-destructive, Tom. I remember you as being rather keen on self-preservation, actually. And yet, here you are, threatening to kill...yourself."

"You are not me." Tom's face was flushed with anger. "You are someone I will never become, born of choices I will never make. You are just a monster from the future."

Voldemort leaned his head to one side and regarded Tom thoughtfully. "Ah, but we are still connected to each other, aren't we Tom? Surely, you can feel it, too? We may no longer be precisely the same person, but we are still closely related to one another. Sort of like twin brothers, perhaps, or like... father and son?"

"Like father and son?" A harsh little laugh escaped Tom's lips. He glared at Voldemort. "You know, that's not a bad way of putting it. I think I do feel the same way about you as I did about my father, now that you mention it. And I am perfectly happy to let our relationship end the way his and mine did." He pointed his wand at Voldemort's chest. "Avada Ked-"

"Expelliarmus!"

Tom's wand flew out of his hand, hit by Harry's rapidly whispered spell.

"Harry! What in Merlin's name did you do that for?" Tom sounded exasperated. "Give me my wand back, love."

Harry shook his head. "Of course not, Tom. I can't let you kill him." Harry walked over and wrapped his arms tightly around Tom. "He's you, after all. I can feel it, Tom."

"Oh, Merlin! You are completely, utterly impossible, my tender-hearted love." Tom sighed deeply and kissed Harry softly on the lips. Harry smiled into the kiss and returned the caress with abandon. A moment later, a more rational part of Harry's mind recalled that Voldemort was watching them, and he pulled back. "Oh..."

Voldemort laughed softly. "Oh, please don't stop on my account. I find the sight of you kissing my past self absolutely ravishing, Harry. It's actually rather arousing. It was worth traveling through time to just see that."

Harry groaned and buried his flushing face against Tom's chest.

Tom stroked Harry's hair and muttered in Voldemort's direction: "Don't you have anything better to do than watching two people in love? Don't let us keep you. Don't you have any random people to murder in your own time? Future world domination to accomplish?"

"World domination?" Voldemort chuckled. "You make it sound so terribly cliché, Tom. I prefer to think of it as unbounded personal expression. I like the world a certain way - as do you, I happen to know - and I have gone further than most men in making the world conform to my expectations of it. It's no different, really, from the machinations of many political leaders, except that I have been rather more successful than most."

"Because you have been more cruel than most..." whispered Tom.

"Oh, details." Voldemort shrugged. "As a matter of fact, Tom, I have grown somewhat less interested in personal power lately, since I came to discover that there are more important things in the world." He smiled and declaimed with a slightly ironic solemnity: "For what, after all, shall it profit a man, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own... soul?" His glance wandered in Harry's direction.

Tom stared at him. "What's this? You are quoting the Bible now? How very... touching. You are the last person I expected to take an interest in theology! Oh, well, I suppose even the devil can cite Scripture for his purpose."

"The devil?" Voldemort's smile broadened. "Aren't you being a little hard on... yourself, Tom?" He drew closer and brushed one of Tom's dark curls out of his eyes. "Although I do seem to recall reading that Satan himself was once an angel. An angel like you, perhaps?"

"Don't touch me! Give me my wand back, Harry." Tom reached for the wand Harry had stuck into his back pocket. "He is not walking out of this room alive."

"You really need to watch those homicidal impulses, Tom." Voldemort shot Tom a concerned glance as Harry retreated to the far corner, Tom's wand clutched tightly in his hand. "Murder is the road to perdition, my dear boy. I am speaking from experience, of course."

"Enough of this!" Harry pointed Tom's wand at the two of them. "Sit down, both of you. We need to talk."

To his slight surprise, both Tom and Voldemort obeyed his command; they both sat down, rather stiffly, in chairs on opposite sides of the fireplace and turned to face him. Harry drew a deep breath.

"First, give me your wand." He pointed Tom's yew wand at Voldemort.

After a slight hesitation, Voldemort retrieved his own yew wand from the pockets of his robes and held it out to Harry. "If you insist, my dear."

Harry grasped it and tucked the two identical wands away in his own pocket. He turned to the two dark-clad men. "Now, what are we going to do?"

"Kill him." Tom's answer was almost instantaneous. "If he... if Voldemort... were to die, everything would be right again."

"No, it wouldn't." Harry shook his head slowly. "If I were to kill him right now, my parents would still be dead, and so would Sirius and Regulus, and all of Voldemort's innocent victims as well."

"Regulus?" Voldemort's voice was soft. "The Black boy? The one with the curls? I do remember him very well, Harry. I had no idea you were attached to him, my dear. No, wait, you can't have been; that was long before your time."

"His brother Sirius was my godfather. Sirius was like a father to me, and he was murdered by Bellatrix Lestrange at the Ministry of Magic."

"I see." Voldemort considered this for a moment. "You loved Sirius Black? I had no idea, Harry. I'm sorry to hear that his death caused you pain. Oh, I know, it's probably difficult to believe that your parents' murderer could feel that way, but I do. I feel rather differently about you now than I have in the past, as you may have gathered. Bellatrix is dead, of course; I killed her myself. Does that comfort you at all, Harry?"

Harry sighed. "No, it doesn't. Bellatrix' death does not undo Sirius' murder. But... but your death would, if you were to die right after you became Voldemort." He was trying hard to keep his voice steady.

Voldemort gazed into the blue flames of the fire. "I see. Is that your plan, then, Harry? To fulfill the prophecy about the two of us and bring your loved ones back? To travel into the future somehow, and to murder me shortly after my transformation?"

Harry swallowed. "I have considered it, yes."

"I see." Voldemort's grey gaze lingered on Harry's face. What was he thinking? Harry found it difficult to sense his emotions now; they seemed to be hidden somewhere his mind couldn't quite reach. Perhaps you are a better occlumens than Tom, after all.

"Let him do it." Tom leaned forward, his his silver eyes fixed on Voldemort as he addressed his future self. "If you have an ounce of humanity left in you - in me - let it happen. If you care for Harry at all, let it happen for his sake. He is your soul and mine."

Voldemort was silent for a moment. "And when would my... death... occur?" He spoke as calmly as if he were discussing the weather forecast.

Harry breathed deeply. "Right after your transformation. Right after Tom Riddle becomes Voldemort, and right before you kill the eighteen year old Regulus Black."

Voldemort stared into the flames. "I see." He was silent again. Then he turned to Harry. "That would be around October 1977, Harry. I had taken up residence in my father's house at that time, in the Riddle House in Little Hangleton. The house was surrounded by some rather complicated protective wards and spells. The only way someone could enter the house without my knowledge would be by speaking the secret password, known only to me. I had chosen a rather strange little password, Harry, a reminder of the only facet of my life before I became Voldemort that I still wished to remember. Do you think you can guess the password, my dear?"

Harry nodded, unable to speak. Rain. The password is "rain".

"Excellent. I will give you a detailed sketch of the house, of course, and teach you a few powerful spells that may help you along the way."

"Wait a minute." Tom stared at Voldemort. "You are going to let him kill you? You?"

Voldemort smiled slightly. "Does that surprise you, Tom? I thought it was what you wanted."

"Surprise me?" Tom shook his head. "That's an understatement. It is what I want, yes, but I can't believe that you would ever let that happen. You are not going to let it happen. I know you; I know your terror of death, your desperate thirst for immortality... There is no way you would choose to die."

"Not even for the sake of my soul?" Voldemort's voice was gentle. "And by soul I do not mean that flimsy construct of the theologians, some imaginary invisible entity just beyond our grasp. By soul I mean - well, him." He glanced at Harry, and Harry felt himself flush. Voldemort's hand reached out, hovered near Harry's head.

"I said don't touch his hair! " Tom sprang up from his chair. "Harry's got my wand, but don't think I need a wand to kill you. I'm younger and stronger than you, and I could throttle the life out of you in an instant."

Voldemort laughed. "Jealous, are you, Tom? Don't you trust... yourself?"

Tom glared at him. "Not much, no. So you are saying that if Harry were to travel to the future and kill you soon after your transformation, you would let him? Just like that?"

Voldemort nodded gravely. "Yes. I would."

"And you would not attempt to stop him, or to harm him in any way?"

"I would not stop him. And I would never let any harm come to Harry. That I think you know, Tom."

Tom stared at Voldemort in silence for a moment. Then he muttered: "I suppose you wouldn't. You are speaking the truth, I can sense that. But I still don't like this. I don't trust you..."

Voldemort shook his head. His dark grey eyes glittered. "Tom, Tom! You wound me, my dear. Trust me. I would never do anything you wouldn't have done."

Tom frowned. "I don't suppose I have a choice but to trust you. But I can't help thinking that you have something up your sleeve... Are you really willing to die?"

Voldemort sighed. "You know, I recall being rather more intelligent than you when I was eighteen. Don't be absurd, Tom! Of course I have no intention of dying."

"What? But you said..."

"I said that I intended to let Harry kill me in the year 1977, yes. That doesn't mean that I am planning to die, in any permanent fashion. I would have thought that you knew me better than that."

"What?"

Voldemort shook his head. "I find the thought of dying absolutely revolting, Tom. Not my cup of tea at all. Surely you know that?"

"But..."

Voldemort turned to Harry with a slight frown. "Is he always this dense, my dear? I was hoping that it was his brilliant intellect, not just his angelic face, that made you fall in love with him. I do hope I wasn't wrong about that. Harry, can you please explain this very obvious plan to your charming lover? He doesn't seem to be catching on."

Harry couldn't help laughing at the baffled expression on Tom's face. He wrapped his arms around Tom and kissed him on the cheek. "It's very simple, Tom. Of course he won't die. I will travel to the year 1977 and murder the Voldemort of that time. But he, the future Voldemort we know, will still be alive, because he will stay here, in this time, while I do so. If he were to travel back to the future, to his own time, he would cease to exist when I kill the earlier Voldemort. But if he stays here, in the past, he will be fine. At least, I hope he will. And my parents and Regulus and Sirius and all of Voldemort's other victims could be saved."

"You've got to admit that this is a rather good plan, Tom?" Voldemort glanced at Tom. "The prophecy about Harry and me would be fulfilled, with no permanent harm to either one of us."

Tom nodded, reluctantly. "I suppose so. There might even be a part of me - a very small part, mind you - that would prefer you not dead. You are me, in a manner of speaking, after all. But we don't have to be stuck with you in this time forever, do we?"

Voldemort laughed. "I do think you would grow to like me over time, Tom, if you just gave me a chance. We have a great deal in common, you and I... But I wouldn't dream of intruding on your happy life with Harry. Unless you wanted me, too, of course. I'm not so sure Harry is altogether opposed to the idea. You do like me, don't you, my dear? Oh, don't worry, Tom - I will go on a long holiday in the 1920s if you wish, to give you some privacy, as long as I am welcome to visit you on occasion."

Tom sighed gloomily. "Oh, all right. As long as you don't..."

"Touch Harry's hair?" Voldemort's eyes twinkled. "I will try to remember that. Excellent. Now, Harry, we need to talk. We have an assassination to plan, you and I, and your victim is a rather clever dark wizard - although not nearly as clever yet as me... Poor young Voldemort of the future! He won't stand a chance against the three of us."


	21. Chapter 21

The blue flames were dying in the fireplace now, and more and more of the room began to vanish into the deepening shadows. Even Voldemort's monstrous features became indistinct in the last light from the flickering candles on the wall, as if he were nothing but an image from a dream, fading into the dreamless black of a deeper sleep.

"It's getting late, Harry."

Had Voldemort's voice always been this soft? Harry felt a cold but not unpleasant thrill at the nape of his neck when Voldemort spoke. He had never really listened to Voldemort's voice before, just to his words. Who can describe the lilt of the voice that curses you? Who can look into Voldemort's scarlet eyes and recall the tone of his voice? But now that Voldemort's terrifying form was fading into the evening shadows, his voice seemed to echo in Harry's mind. It was Tom's voice, and yet not Tom's at all. It was deep and melodious, with a strange haunting quality to it that reminded Harry of darkness and curses and veela song all at once.

Voldemort continued: "Professor Slughorn offered me his spare bedroom for the night, and I have accepted his offer. Trust Horace to secure more spacious accommodations for himself than any other Hogwarts teacher!" There was a hint of laughter in his voice now. "You should go back to Gryffindor Tower and get some sleep, Harry. You need to be alert when we plan the murder of Voldemort over the next few days. I will see you in the morning."

"Go back to Gryffindor Tower?" It took Harry a moment to realize that the Dark Lord had no inkling that Harry was now in a different house. "Oh, I'm not in Gryffindor."

"Not in Gryffindor?" Harry could hear the slight rustling of Voldemort's robes as the Dark Lord stirred by his side. "But I seem to recall that you were. You must be; I remember you pulling that sword out of Godric's crumpled old hat, many years from now."

Harry smiled into the gathering darkness. "I was sorted into Gryffindor in the future, yes. I mean, I will be. But in this time, the Sorting Hat put me in Slytherin."

"Harry Potter in Slytherin?" Voldemort's voice was a breath in the darkness. "What a strange thought! And yet it does make sense; you are my horcrux, after all. Imagine, the Dark Lord's own living horcrux sorted into Gryffindor! I wonder what made the Sorting Hat get it right in this time, but not in the future."

"The Sorting Hat did get it right in both times," whispered Harry. "It knows that I belong in both houses. I may be your horcrux, but I'm also me. The Hat simply put me in the house where I asked it to put me. Both times."

"You asked it-?" Tom's voice - his Tom's voice - floated toward him through the shadowy room.

"Yes, Tom. It is... it is our choices that make us what we are."

"Our choices?" A slight pause. Then Tom whispered: "I hope you are right about that, Harry. Lumos!"

The candles in the wall sconces flickered more brightly at Tom's spell, and Harry saw the shapes of his two companions growing slowly out of the shadows.

"Wandless magic? Very impressive, Professor Riddle." Harry could sense Tom squirming at the ironic undertone in Voldemort's approval. Harry studied Voldemort's pale face as it emerged from the darkness. Somehow, The Dark Lord seemed entirely different now that his eyes were of a more normal hue. His eyes were very much like Tom's, only darker and more inscrutable.

"Our choices make us what we are?" Voldemort shrugged. "That sounds like one of those trite little things Dumbledore would say, but I suppose there could be something to it after all. I am rather pleased to learn that there is a part of you that has chosen Slytherin, Harry. You look tired, my dear; you should go and get some sleep. In the Slytherin dormitory." A slight smile brushed over his pale features. "How strange, to imagine Harry Potter sleeping on silver sheets in the Slytherin dungeon! I wonder what you will dream there... I remember that dormitory so well, even after all these years. I wonder which bed is yours? Perhaps you are in my old bed? It's the one in the south corner."

"Er..." Harry wished the darkness had still been there to conceal his burning cheeks. "I'm not sleeping in the Slytherin dormitory any more."

"He is sleeping in my quarters." Tom broke in firmly. "It's an arrangement that I made for his protection."

"For his protection, Tom?" Voldemort stared at him. "Protection from what?"

"From you."

Voldemort laughed. "Oh, I see. You are protecting him from Voldemort? How delightfully ironic. Well, Professor Riddle, as Harry's - I mean Elias' - guardian, I am not at all sure I approve of that unusual arrangement. What if you were to take advantage of the boy?"

Tom glared at him. "My relationship with Harry is none of your business. We are lovers; you already know that. We love each other, and if you dare to interfere, you will soon find out what other wandless magic I can perform. I have heard that wandless killing curses are almost impossible to perform, but I am rather good at magic. I dare say I could do it if I really put my mind to it."

"Besides, Tom will not be taking advantage of me tonight." Harry reached out for Tom's hand and met Voldemort's glance defiantly. "I will be the one taking advantage of him."

"You will... what?" Voldemort's penetrating grey gaze made Harry flush. "How unexpected and how very... intriguing..."

Harry squirmed under his lingering glance.

"Ah, well." The Dark Lord got up. "I will see you both in the morning, then. I have informed Professor Dippet that I wish to observe a few of Elias' classes tomorrow, just so I can reassure myself that my ward is receiving the quality magical education I expect from an institution like this. Of course, if I am not happy with what I see, I may consider having Elias transferred to Durmstrang. I look forward to seeing you teach, Tom. That should be an interesting experience for both of us, I would think... Professor Riddle! Yes, I think I shall enjoy that very much. Could I have my wand back, my dear?" Voldemort accepted his wand from Harry. "I am to share Horace's quarters tonight, after all, so I might need my wand for my own protection. I doubt he will make a pass at me now, given my current appearance, but I will hex him within an inch of his life if he insists on offering me that revolting crystallized pineapple."

Tom smiled slightly. "Hm. Yes, it is rather appalling, isn't it?"

"I'm glad we have something in common, Tom. Apart from being the same person, I mean." Voldemort hesitated for a moment. His dark grey eyes scrutinized Harry's face. Then he did the last thing Harry had expected: He leaned forward and brushed Harry's lips gently with his own. His mouth felt curiously cold, much colder to the touch than Tom's. His lips were as icy as snow, and yet Harry felt as if he had been touched by a searing flame. The kiss lasted for a mere moment, but it left Harry's senses reeling.

"Harry..." Voldemort's voice was as soft as the kiss. "I was just wondering what it would feel like. It was even sweeter than I would have thought."

*He's mine!* Tom hissed, leaping to his feet and flinging himself at Voldemort.

Voldemort must have used a wordless, wandless spell of some sort, for Tom appeared to hit an invisible obstacle in mid-air. He was thrown backwards and landed in a heap on the floor.

Voldemort watched with a slight smile as Tom scrambled to his feet, cursing furiously. *Don't forget, Tom: If he is yours, that makes him mine also.* And the Dark Lord turned and swept out the door.

Harry stood frozen, spellbound by the impossible touch. The next instant, Tom's arms wrapped tightly around Harry, and warm lips found Harry's mouth. Tom kissed him again and again, furiously, as if he wanted to wipe every trace and every memory of Voldemort's kiss away.

Finally, Harry pulled away and whispered: "You are jealous of him, aren't you?"

"Jealous?" Tom's grey eyes glittered. "I was jealous when Abraxas Malfoy touched you. It's hardly an adequate term for what I felt when he kissed you... You know, Harry, it occurs to me that dark wizards put very little effort into their deadly curses; everyone fires off the customary Avada Kedavra without a second thought. The Avada curse accomplishes the desired end result, of course, but it seems much too instant and painless to be used for all murders. It should be possible to create a new killing curse that is involves a little more suffering on the victim's part, to ensure that the dying person has adequate time to repent any ill-conceived kisses..."

"There is no reason to be jealous, Tom. It's you I love. Always you. This you." Harry kissed Tom softly. He reached out for Tom's mind with his own. Suddenly, he pulled back. "Wait, what...? What is this, Tom? I can sense your jealousy, but what is that other emotion I feel lingering in your mind? I thought at first it was anger, but it's not. Well, not only anger." He stared at Tom. "What? Seeing him kiss me - it turned you on?"

Tom flushed scarlet. "Oh, don't be ridiculous. Of course it didn't! That's a preposterous thought, Harry."

"Tom? I can read your mind, remember?"

Tom groaned. "I know. I'm beginning to think that's not an altogether good thing. Well, I suppose seeing the kiss did turn me on, just a tiny bit. To see what you look like, from the outside, as it were, when you kiss someone... And I suppose that he is me, in a way... And then to sense his desperate desire to hold you, to... Well, it's not like he didn't feel the same way when he saw us kiss."

"Enough!" Harry sighed. "I don't want to think about Voldemort right now. I want to think about you. Let's go back to your rooms, and I will show you exactly what I was thinking."

...

"I am delighted," chirped Professor Slughorn, "to inform you that we will have a distinguished visitor observing our potions class this morning. This is Mr. Gaunt, Elias Black's guardian."

Mr. Gaunt? Harry smiled to himself as he pulled out his potions book. How is is possible that Slughorn can look into his grey eyes and not recognize him as Tom?

"Mr. Gaunt," continued Slughorn, with an air of excitement, "is a most accomplished wizard, as I discovered last night, when I accidentally startled him when he thought himself alone. I am hardly a novice at magic myself, but he hexed me rather thoroughly. Fortunately, he was able to reverse the effects of the spell, or I wouldn't be here right now."

Harry could see that many of the students looked suitably impressed.

"A most regrettable misunderstanding," said Voldemort softly. "Mere instinct, I assure you, developed through years of traveling in dangerous parts of the world."

Slughorn chuckled. "Very understandable, Mr. Gaunt! When a powerful wizard is used to fighting danger every day, even an innocuous potions master arriving suddenly with a bowl of crystallized pineapple may provoke a deep-rooted self-defensive instinct... Now, now, Elias, there is really nothing very humorous about that."

"No, sir. Nothing humorous at all." Harry quickly arranged his face in what he hoped was a very grave expression.

"Now, if you will kindly take a seat here in the back, Mr. Gaunt - " Slughorn waved his wand, and one of the wooden classroom chairs in the back was instantly transformed into a plush armchair upholstered in crimson velvet - "we will proceed with our lesson. Today's potion is the very potent and devilishly tricky amortentia. Yes, the classic love potion. Make me proud, ladies and gentlemen; show Mr. Gaunt how much you have learned here at Hogwarts. Oh..." He glanced sternly at some of the girls who were giggling rather excitedly. "I should add, perhaps, that I have put some extra screening wards up by the door. Nobody will be able to leave the classroom with any samples of today's potions!" His eyes twinkled as he looked out over the disappointed faces of his students. "Your old potions master was not born yesterday, you know! Now, please turn to page thirty-three of your book..."

A rustling of pages followed. Harry noticed that most of the students studied the instructions in the potions books with a great deal more enthusiasm than usual. There was a hectic flush on Eileen Prince's usually pale cheeks, and both Orion and Abraxas were grinning.

Harry bent over his own potions book. Pound elder flowers and bittersweet together. Add jasmine, myrrh and lady's mantle, in that order, and throw in a handful of pure white rose petals while thinking passionate thoughts of a beloved...

Cauldrons filled with water were bubbling merrily over low fires. Slughorn had already put out the potions ingredients for each student; piles of green leaves and several kinds of white flowers covered each desk. But what was what? The rose petals were easy enough, but which were the elder flowers? Harry peeked over at Cygnus and Araminta, but they looked baffled as well.

Start with the small five-petalled flowers, whispered a voice in Harry's head. Those are the elder flowers. The arrow-shaped leaves are the bittersweet. Harry glanced over at Voldemort, but Voldemort appeared completely engrossed in watching Tiberius McLaggen pounding something Harry was pretty certain were rose petals in his mortar.

Harry smiled and dropped the five-petalled flowers and the arrow-shaped leaves into his mortar. Make sure you pound them well; you should not be able to tell the two plants apart when you are done, continued the voice in his head. Harry obediently pounded the flowers and leaves to a soggy greenish pulp. Pour the pulp in your cauldron. Now add the jasmine flowers; they are the oval petals with a scent that resembles perfume. Just drop them in, lightly. The white flowers attached to the spiky twig with the glossy green leaves are myrrh. The instructions don't say so, but I would pound the stem a little before adding it if I were you; it helps release the fragrant resin. The larger grey-green fan-shaped leaves are the lady's mantle. You need to tear those into little pieces, or they will just float around on top when you add them to the potion.

Harry peered into his cauldron. The bubbling liquid was turning silver now, and a sweet fragrance rose from the bubbling depths.

And then the rose petals. Harry flung the remaining heap of snow-white flowers in the potion. Passionate thoughts of a beloved? That part was easy. He closed his eyes for a moment and let memories from the previous night flood his mind. Tom, warm and flushed in his arms, Tom moaning under him in response to his frantic strokes... Too late, Harry recalled that his thoughts were not entirely private. He flushed deeply as he suddenly felt Voldemort's glance linger on him.

Harry bent over his potion. Yes, the shimmering liquid was beginning to assume a lovely mother-of-pearl sheen. The scent rising from the shimmering depths was enticing; it smelled like Tom's skin and wood and broomsticks and rain and damp wool all at once.

Yarrow. The word suddenly appeared in his mind. You should add yarrow. Harry flipped through the pages of the instructions. No mention of yarrow anywhere. Elder flowers and bittersweet are for enticement, jasmine and myrrh and lady's mantle are for passion, and roses for love, but yarrow will make it everlasting... insisted the voice in his head. No, there was nothing about that in the book. Harry glanced up and met Voldemort's eyes.

Yarrow?

Yarrow. Trust me.

Harry sighed and walked over to the potions cupboard. They are the long, straight stalks on the second shelf. Harry reached in and grasped a handful of dried stalks. The potion bubbled slightly as he tossed them in.

"Hey! What did you just do?" Abraxas leaned over Harry's cauldron. "What are those funny stems you just put in there?"

"Back to your own spot, please, Mr. Malfoy." Slughorn had appeared behind them. He regarded Abraxas' potion with a sigh. "Too much myrrh. Your potion would make the affected person much too desperate..." Slughorn leaned over Harry's cauldron. "Oh, sweet Merlin!" He beamed at Harry. "Very well done, Elias; very well done indeed! I do not ever think I have seen such a flawless love potion; its shimmer has an almost unearthly quality to it. Excellent work, my boy!" Slughorn reached out and ruffled Harry's hair affectionately.

The next moment, the potions master was doubled over in pain. "Ahhh!"

"Are you all right, professor? Shall I call the matron?" Voldemort gave him a look of great concern.

"No, I'll be... all right..." Slughorn moaned, clutching his ample belly. "Just a sudden pain. I suppose it's indigestion. Ahhh."

"Perhaps it's the crystallized pineapple," said Voldemort softly.

"I suppose that's possible." Slughorn straightened up and wiped the perspiration from his forehead with a delicate lilac handkerchief. He completed his inspection of the remaining potions. When he was done, he turned to Voldemort with a wan smile. "As you can see, sir, we have several talented potions makers among our students, but I think you can see for yourself that your ward is in a class by himself. It is a privilege to have him among us."

Slughorn clapped his hands, and the students glanced up from their potions. "That is all for today, ladies and gentlemen. Before you leave, I have an announcement to make: Mr. Gaunt wishes to see as much as possible of student life here at Hogwarts. Last night, when I told him about Professor Beery's Christmas pantomime, Mr. Gaunt expressed his deep regret that he would not be able to attend the final performance itself. But I had a word with Professor Beery this morning, and he assures me that the rehearsals have been going so well lately that it would be perfectly possible to put on an early performance of the play for Mr. Gaunt this evening. Actors, understudies, and interested spectators are asked to find their way to the Great Hall this evening at eight o'clock. Let's give Mr. Gaunt an experience he will never forget!"

"What a wonderful surprise!" Voldemort bowed his head gracefully. "A Christmas pantomime at Hogwarts! A once in a lifetime experience, you might say. I look forward to it, Professor Slughorn."

"Oh, please call me Horace. I insist."

"Thank you. Horace." Voldemort was all smiles.

As the class dismissed, Eileen Prince leaned closer to Harry. "What a charming man he is, your guardian!"

"Charming?" Harry blinked in surprise.

Eileen flushed a little. "Why, yes. At least, I think so. And I'm not the only one, either; look at Araminta and Druella staring at him. His face is dreadfully disfigured, of course, but that just makes him all the more interesting, don't you think? And he has such beautiful manners." She sighed softly. "What a lonely life he must have lead! Has he ever been married? Or had a girlfriend?"

Harry pondered this for a moment. Well, he was engaged to Walburga once... No, wait, that was Tom, not Voldemort. And he kissed me last night, in front of his past self... He flushed. "Er... No. I don't think so."

"Poor man," whispered Eileen. "One cannot help but pity him."

Pity him? Harry looked doubtfully at Voldemort.

"Ah, Elias." Voldemort approached him with a smile, and Eileen vanished with the other students. "You are quite a gifted potions maker, I see."

Harry rolled his eyes. "One of us is, I suppose. Thanks for the help."

"Any time, my dear. I can't wait to see you in the play tonight."

Harry shuddered. "Oh, I'm not in the play any more. I pulled out, since I had too much.. er... homework to do."

"But of course you are in the play." Voldemort's voice was soft. "Why would I wish to sit through that horrible travesty unless you were in it? I had a word with Beery, and he agreed that you should resume your former role tonight. You will be Sir Luckless, of course."

"What?" Harry glared at him. "No. No, I won't do it. I can't do it. I don't even know all the lines."

"Oh, don't worry about that." Voldemort gazed at him, and if Harry didn't know better, he would have characterized the Dark Lord's brief smile as an evil grin. "I will have the play in hand - Professor Beery kindly provided me with a copy of the script - and I think you will find that the lines will appear in you mind as needed."

Harry shook his head. "No. I will not do this. You can't make me."

"Oh, come on, Harry. It will be so entertaining! I have heard so much about the play over the years. You can't miss this." Voldemort smiled slightly. "Just promise me one thing, Harry."

Harry sighed. "What?"

"Promise me you won't eat or drink anything that has been left unattended, even for a second, during the next few days."

Harry blinked. "What? Why?"

"Amortentia is a rather powerful potion, Harry, and there is a great deal of it about the castle right now."

Harry stared at him. "There is amortentia about? But didn't you hear what Slughorn said? He put up wards by the door, to ensure that students couldn't bring any samples out."

Voldemort shrugged. "He did put wards up, yes. Of course, that wouldn't stop students from trying to smuggle samples out. Unfortunately, I accidentally dispelled the wards during class."

"You what? How? Why?"

Voldemort's grey eyes glittered. "How? Well, I am quite good at wordless magic. As for why... Well, if I have to sit through that pantomime, I might as well make sure it will be amusing to watch. The play may turn out quite entertaining after all. I counted seven concealed bottles of amortentia exiting the room, hidden underneath students' robes."

"Seven?"

Voldemort nodded gravely. "Seven. I dare say the next few days will prove to be quite interesting, Harry."


	22. Chapter 22

"Excuse me, Mr. Gaunt-"

"Do you have a moment, Mr. Gaunt?"

To Harry's surprise, Eileen Prince and Druella Rosier were waiting for them in the corridor outside the potions classroom. Druella gazed up at Voldemort with a look of adoration that made Harry flinch. Harry had seen that look in the future; Bellatrix used to gaze at Voldemort with a very similar expression.

"Is it true, sir, what Abraxas was saying, that you encountered were-tigers during your travels in Assam?" Druella sounded a little breathless.

"Were-tigers?" Voldemort smiled slightly.

"We would love to hear more about your travels, Mr. Gaunt," said Eileen Prince softly.

"Perhaps over a drink-?" suggested Druella.

Voldemort regarded her thoughtfully. "You would like to offer me a drink, young lady?"

Druella's dark eyes lingered on his face. "There is some excellent elf-made wine in the Slytherin common room, sir."

Voldemort turned to Harry. "What do you say, Elias? Should I join these two charming ladies for a drink?"

Harry stared at him. Voldemort wasn't seriously considering drinking Druella's amortentia-laced wine, was he?

Voldemort chuckled. "Ah, seeing that my ward looks so shocked at the thought, I think I had better not. I have to set a good example for the boy, you see. I am afraid I cannot indulge in elf-made wine mid-morning. Perhaps another time?"

"Any time it suits you, sir." Druella smiled at Voldemort, cast Harry a nasty look and disappeared down the hallway with Eileen.

Harry stared after them as they vanished out of sight. Then he gazed up at Voldemort. "You wouldn't have... would you?"

Voldemort laughed. "Oh, don't worry, Harry. I think it would take more than a little amortentia to make me fall for Druella or Eileen. The thought that any...ah... indiscretion on my part could make me the father of Bellatrix or Severus is more than enough to counteract even the most potent love potion." He grimaced.

Harry couldn't help smiling. "Come on; we don't want to be late for Defense Against the Dark Arts with Tom."

"Defense Against the Dark Arts?" Voldemort lit up. "I can't wait. Oh, and I must remember to have a word with Tom; I'm afraid one of the vials of amortentia left the potions class in the possession of someone who was not a student..."

"What? Oh, Merlin, you don't mean that Slughorn..." Harry shuddered. "Yes, I think we had better warn Tom about that."

Harry and Voldemort walked rapidly through the near-empty corridors to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. They were a little late already; most of the students were already in class. Harry glanced curiously up at his dark-clad companion as they walked. Voldemort. Here at Hogwarts. My guardian, watching over me. It should have felt utterly wrong, but somehow it didn't feel wrong at all.

A tall, solitary figure was waiting for them outside the classroom. As they approached, Alphard Black drew his wand and pointed it at Voldemort, a grim expression on his face.

"Good morning, Alphard," said Voldemort pleasantly.

Alphard turned to Harry. "Har- I mean Elias, what is going on here? Your guardian is... Voldemort? How can he be here, in this time? Is he a threat to you?"

Voldemort regarded Alphard with interest. "Now, how does he know who I am? I know him, of course, from the past, but how does he know me? Is Alphard a friend of yours, my dear?"

"Yes, he is," Harry smiled at Alphard. "It's all right, Alphard. I will explain later. Voldemort is not a threat to me."

"Not to his life, safety, or happiness, at any rate," put in Voldemort softly. "There may be a slight threat to his moral character, however. I'm not a very good influence, I'm afraid."

Alphard sighed and rubbed his forehead. "See, now you sound like Tom... But you are still Regulus' murderer."

"We will see what we can do about that," said Harry gently. "Let's all meet in Tom's study this evening, after the accursed play is over, and go over our plan. You too, Alphard."

Alphard nodded. "Can Ginny come too? I plan to bring her to the play this evening; she's been dying to see it."

"Ginny? Who is Ginny?" Voldemort sounded confused.

Harry smiled. "Ginevra Weasley. Arthur and Molly Weasley's daughter. She's my friend and Alphard's girlfriend."

"Ginny Weasley? The red-haired one? In this time?" Voldemort shook his head slowly. "Now I'm getting a headache..."

Harry looked at Alphard. "I don't mind Ginny meeting with us this evening, but I don't see how you can bring her to the play. Won't people wonder who she is and where she came from?"

Alphard smiled slightly. "Invisibility cloak, remember? Now, we had better join the Defense Against the Dark Arts class before Tom begins to think that you have been kidnapped by the Dark Lord, Elias."

The class had already begun as they entered the classroom. Tom gave Voldemort a cold glance and nodded to an empty seat at the back of the classroom. Harry and Alphard slid quietly into their seats.

He looks good, doesn't he? whispered a voice inside Harry's mind. Tom looks very handsome in professor's robes. Professor Riddle. I like it!

Tom's silver glance met Harry's, and Harry felt his heart skip several beats. An image of Tom kissing a boy with messy dark hair entered his mind, and he smiled up at Tom. But a moment after, an image of the dark-haired boy embracing a pale, dark-clad man fluttered into Harry's consciousness. Harry suppressed a groan and turned to glare at Voldemort, but Voldemort was glancing through Araminta's text book with an expression of profound concentration.

"Today," said Tom coldly, looking out over the classroom, "we will talk about how to produce a patronus. A patronus is a wizard's best defense against many forms of the Dark Arts, and it is a form of magic notoriously difficult for dark wizards themselves to perform. Let me demonstrate what a patronus looks like." He flicked his wand. "Expecto Patronum!"

The students gasped as the brilliant form of a silver stag sprang from Tom's wand. The stag ran a few times around the classroom before dissolving in a silvery mist.

A Patronus charm? whispered the voice in Harry's mind. That's rather impressive; I didn't know Tom Riddle could do that.

"Perhaps you will show the class your patronus as well, Mr. Gaunt," said Tom softly.

Voldemort smiled. "No, thank you, Professor Riddle. I am merely here as an observer."

"Oh, come now, Mr. Gaunt." Tom walked to the back of the room and paused in front of Voldemort. His silver eyes glittered. "It would be so helpful for the students to see another example of a full-fledged patronus. There is no need for this false modesty. Surely, a wizard of your stature has a great deal of experience with this charm?"

Voldemort laughed softly. "Oh, I have experience with a great many things that I wouldn't care to demonstrate in your classroom, Professor Riddle."

"Please, sir." Cygnus Black looked pleadingly at Voldemort. "There are all sorts of rumors among the students and staff about the rare magic you can do. Can't you show us something?"

"Oh, yes, can't you?" Eileen Prince's eyes were shining.

"Quiet, please," said Tom sternly. "If Mr. Gaunt prefers to sit quietly and observe the class, we should let him do so."

"But is it true that you can fly, sir? Without a broomstick?"

Tom glared at Abraxas. "Please, Mr. Malfoy. No more questions for poor Mr. Gaunt, and particularly not ridiculous ones like that. You should know that there is no magic that will allow a wizard to fly without the aid of a broomstick, a flying carpet, or some flying creature. Human wizards do not fly by themselves, Mr. Malfoy."

"Oh, I don't know about that..." A sudden smile passed over Voldemort's pale features. "A very powerful wizard might be able to fly, Professor Riddle."

Voldemort stood up, and in front of the mesmerized students, he began to ascend slowly towards the ceiling.

He can fly? Tom's voice echoed in Harry's mind. When the hell did he learn how to fly?

No idea, whispered Harry's mind back. But he was pretty impressed by your patronus, even if he didn't show it.

Tom smiled slightly. He was?

Harry nodded. Oh, and Tom? A lot of people smuggled love potion out of Slughorn's class today. Including Slughorn. Just be careful, will you?

Tom sighed. I'll be careful, Harry. Thanks for the warning.

Voldemort landed on the classroom floor, and wild applause broke out among the students. The Dark Lord inclined his head gracefully and resumed his seat. "Enough distractions," he said with a smile. "Please turn your attention back to Professor Riddle."

The class did so, with a slight sigh. Soon, the students were busy with their Patronus charms. Harry's patronus was much admired, and if anyone happened to notice that it had the same form as Tom's, they were too tactful to say anything about it. After quite a few attempts, John Lupin was able to produce a blurry wolf-like shape, while Alphard's patronus was a hazy horse-like cloud. Augusta Moon's patronus appeared to be a monkey, and Algie Longbottom's was (not surprisingly) a toad. A few other Gryffindor students were able to produce silver clouds with leg-like protrusions, but most of the Slytherin students struggled to make as much as a silver spark.

"I wonder what your guardian's patronus is," whispered Eileen to Harry as he tried to help her with the charm.

Harry glanced over at Voldemort, who was sitting silently in the back, observing the students. "I wonder about that myself," he said softly.

...

Harry found his seat at the Slytherin table at dinner. Voldemort was seated at the staff table between Tom and Professor Dippet. Voldemort was apparently telling the headmaster about his imaginary travels in foreign lands, for Harry's mind suddenly filled with images of a dark-clad figure performing one feat of magic more impossible than the next in faraway jungles. Dippet was staring at Voldemort, his mouth slightly open. Harry giggled to himself, and Voldemort looked up and winked at him.

But wait - what was that? Harry watched in horror as Slughorn, who was seated on the other side of Tom, glanced around quickly. Then, apparently satisfied that nobody was watching him, Slughorn's hand lingered over Tom's wine glass for a brief moment. Voldemort glanced up lazily, and the next moment, a tray of stuffed partridges exploded in a blaze of fire further down the teachers' table. Little screams were heard among the students, and while the teachers whipped out their wands and cast extinguishing spells on the partridges, Voldemort reached out and switched the two cups on either side of him. He was so fast that Harry wasn't even sure if he had seen that right.

The next moment, Tom, with a quick glance at Voldemort, reached out for his wine cup and took a small sip. Slughorn's glance lingered on Tom's face, expectantly. The potions master appeared to be holding his breath. Further down the table, Armando Dippet raised his wine cup to his lips as well. The next instant, Dippet blushed scarlet as he turned and gazed at Slughorn's corpulent form with an expression of rapture, while Tom struggled to suppress a smile.

Harry buried his face in his hands and groaned.

"More carrots, Elias?" Harry felt a gentle nudge at his arm. Abraxas Malfoy was holding out a dish of carrots, a slight flush on his face. "I've noticed that you seem to like carrots, and there are only a few left. Here, you take them..." Abraxas shoveled a small pile of buttered carrots onto Harry's plate.

Harry sighed and looked wearily at the carrots. They appeared to have an odd mother-of-pearl sheen to them. "No, thank you, Abraxas, I'm not really hungry any more..."

"Elias? Could I have a quick word with you about the play this evening?"

Harry glanced up in confusion. John Lupin? What was he doing at the Slytherin table?

"About the play?" Harry looked doubtfully up at the dark, handsome Gryffindor boy. "What about it?"

John Lupin flushed. "Well, I just wanted to let you know that there are no hard feelings. About you taking the lead part again this evening, I mean. Just in case you wondered, I am absolutely fine with that."

"Oh. Er... Thanks for telling me." Harry felt confused. Wait, did John Lupin's hand linger for a moment near Araminta's drink?

Harry sighed deeply and rubbed his forehead. "Er, perhaps it would be better if you were to take the lead part this evening after all, Lupin?"

"Oh, I wouldn't dream of it. You guardian, Mr. Gaunt, wishes to see you in the lead, after all, if only for a single evening."

Araminta glanced up with a little smile. "It will be a pleasure to entertain Mr. Gaunt this evening. He is such a charming gentleman, isn't he? The Gaunts are a very ancient pure-blood family, I believe, descended from Salazar Slytherin himself."

"Er... That's nice." John Lupin sounded less than enthusiastic about this piece of information.

"In fact," Araminta leaned forward slightly, her sapphire eyes shining, "my mother told me that one of the Gaunts once disinherited his daughter for marrying a mudblood. It is wonderful to know that pureblood pride still exists in some families, isn't it? Of course, it would have been much better if he had killed her instead; that's what I would have done if a daughter of mine had done something that foolish..."

John Lupin made an odd strangled sound. He stared at Araminta in horror.

Araminta looked up at him. "What's wrong, John? Oh, I know you must be disappointed not to be Sir Luckless in tonight's pantomime, but it's only for one night. After that, everything will be back to the way it was." She smiled charmingly at John Lupin, who looked so pale that Harry wondered if he was about to faint. She lifted her pumpkin juice to her lips. "Oh, don't tell me you are jealous of Elias, John! You know you have no reason to..."

"Don't drink that, Araminta!" There was panic in John Lupin's voice now.

"What?" Araminta looked at him in confusion. "Why not?"

"That's... that's not your drink, Araminta. You grabbed the wrong cup. That one belongs to..." John Lupin glanced at the person sitting by Araminta's side and winced. Then he closed his eyes for a moment, sighed, and said reluctantly: "That's... Abraxas' drink, Araminta. Yours is the other cup."

"Oh. Thanks, John." Araminta reached for the other cup. "I will see you after the play this evening, I hope."

Lupin muttered something unintelligible about too much homework.

"Homework? What nonsense! I bet you are going to sneak out to the Quidditch pitch with Llewellyn, aren't you?" Abraxas reached for the pumpkin juice by his spot and took a deep sip. "Well, let me tell you, even if you find one of those time-turner thingies and practice forty-eight hours a day, you still won't beat our house team!" Abraxas paused. He took another sip of the juice. "I mean..." He looked up at John Lupin. Their eyes met. "John?" Abraxas' voice was a whisper. "Perhaps we could practice together some time, just you and me? All this rivalry between our houses is just nonsense, really, isn't it? It makes us lose sight of the wonders of the magical game itself. It's not about the teams, really, it's about Quidditch. It's about broomsticks and magic and flying through the air together, isn't it?" Abraxas gazed up at John Lupin, his grey eyes shining.

John Lupin sighed deeply. "Listen, Abraxas, I don't think we should play Quidditch together... At least, not just the two of us."

"Really?" Abraxas sounded heartbroken. His grey eyes filled with tears, and he ran his hand clumsily through his white-gold curls, messing them up terribly.

"Oh, please don't be upset, Abraxas." John Lupin's gaze lingered on Abraxas' flaxen curls. "I mean... I mean..." He glanced quickly at Araminta and shuddered. Then he whispered. "Oh, all right, Abraxas. Let's play Quidditch together."

Abraxas lit up. "Just you and me?"

John Lupin nodded and flushed. "Yes, Abraxas. What the hell... Just you and me."

As Harry was leaving the great hall, he heard Slughorn's voice, slightly panicked: "I'm afraid I don't have time to chat now, headmaster; so many potions essays to correct this evening..."

"Oh, what's the rush, my dear Horace?" The headmaster's hand lingered on Slughorn's robes. "This mallard blue velvet looks fabulous on you Horace; it picks up some of the green-blue shades in your eyes..."

"Ready for the play, Elias?" Voldemort appeared by Harry's side.

Harry sighed. "No. But I suppose we'd better get it over with."

"There, there. No need to be nervous my dear." Voldemort ruffled his hair gently. "I'll be right there giving you the lines if you need them. So what could possibly go wrong?"


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wizarding Nerd Note: Observant readers may wonder how Bertie Botts could be a first year student in 1945 when his Famous Wizard card clearly tells us that he was born in 1935, and thus would have been only 10 years old when this story takes place. In response, I can only state that the Famous Wizard cards are notoriously unreliable sources of information; we learn from Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, for example, that the young Dumbledore corresponded with Adalbert Waffling in the 1890s, even though the Famous Wizard card gives Waffling's birth date as 1899.

"Where in Merlin's name is Abraxas Malfoy?" Professor Beery was growing quite agitated. It was almost time for the pantomime to begin, but Amata's faithless lover was nowhere to be seen.

"I think he is still playing Quidditch, sir," said Augusta Moon cheerfully. She peeked out through the velvet curtain that separated the stage from the audience. "Oh, look, there are hundreds of people out there! Almost all the students must be here, and the teachers as well. This will be so much fun!"

"Quidditch? How could he be playing Quidditch now? It's dark out already! And he's supposed to be the faithless lover!" Beery's voice rose to an indignant squeak. "Of all the fickle, irresponsible..."

"Faithless?" interjected Tom with a slight smile. "That's Abraxas for you, Professor Beery. We are going to need his understudy to step in, I'm afraid. Mr. Sanguini, do you know all the lines?"

The handsome young vampire nodded gravely. "Of course, Professor Riddle. I take my assigned role very seriously."

"Good, good." Professor Beery gave Sanguini a flustered little nod. "Er... Could you try to look a little more fickle? A little less brooding?"

"Fickle?" Sabino Sanguini was clearly not familiar with the word.

"More like a flighty Casanova, seducing one young lady after another and leaving them all broken-hearted. You character does after all abandon the lovely Amata very cruelly."

"Yes, I see." Sanguini pondered this for a moment. "Pardon me, Professor Beery, but I find that part very difficult to comprehend. My character loves Miss Amata, yes?"

"Yes, of course. But then he abandons her because he has fallen in love with another young lady instead." Professor Beery glanced through the script. "House-elves, will you please assume your positions for the opening dance?"

"I beg your pardon, Professor, but I do not understand how that is possible."

Beery looked bewildered. "You do not understand how what is possible, Mr. Sanguini?"

The pale vampire shook his head. "I do not understand how my character can love Miss Amata and then just... stop. Just like that. Surely love, the noblest and most eternal of emotions, cannot simply cease, from one moment to the next."

Beery sighed deeply. "This is no time for reflections on the nature of love, Mr. Sanguini. The part is simply written this way. You will just have to do your best."

"Yes, sir. Of course, sir." Sanguini leafed through the script again, shaking his head slightly.

"Miss Rosier! What is Merlin's name are you wearing?" Professor Beery had just caught sight of Druella Rosier. "That is not a rag."

Harry looked at Druella and tried not to laugh. "Not a rag" was an understatement; Druella was wearing a low-cut black satin dress that showed off her slim figure to perfection. The material itself was slightly sparkly, and it contrasted beautifully with her alabaster skin.

"That is a very lovely dress," said Sanguini hoarsely.

Professor Beery tugged at his beard. "But... but Altheda is supposed to be poor. Destitute, in fact. Destitute ladies do not wear dresses like that, my dear."

"Oh, come now, Professor. You cannot expect me to wear rags in front of a distinguished guest like Mr. Gaunt," said Druella softly. "Has he arrived yet?" She peeked through the curtain. "Yes, there he is, in the second row, next to Alphard. I wonder why there is an empty seat on the other side of Alphard?"

Harry smiled to himself. Hello, Ginny... Welcome to 1945. Enjoying your date with Alphard?

"And there is Cygnus too." Eileen Prince glanced quickly through the curtain as well. "Your boyfriend," she added, with a cold glance at Druella. Eileen was also wearing a low-cut gown, but hers was made of wine-red velvet. Harry had never thought of Eileen as particularly pretty - her pale skin and dark hair reminded him too much of her unborn son Severus Snape - but he had to admit that the dress was rather flattering.

"Now, why are you dressed up this evening, Miss Prince?" Beery sounded completely baffled.

Eileen turned and smiled at him. "Why, as the understudy for the part of Amata, I need to be ready, professor. Just in case anything happens to Araminta."

Professor Beery beamed at her. "Ah, good thinking, my dear. Now, speaking of understudies, where did Mr. Lupin go?"

"Oh, I think he's playing Quidditch in the dark, too," said Augusta Moon serenely.

"Oh!" breathed Eileen. "Mr. Gaunt is looking this way!"

Harry peeked through the curtain. Yes, there was Voldemort, pale and dark-clad as always, glancing up at the stage with a slight smile. And there in the back was Horace Slughorn, looking around rather nervously. Too late - the headmaster had already spotted him. Armando Dippet beamed happily and made a beeline for the plump potions master, who darted quickly from the room.

"Poor Dippet! Completely smitten with Horace! Well, rather him than me," muttered Tom by Harry's side.

"Actors, are you all ready?" Beery drew his breath deeply. "Here we go then. Break a leg, everyone!"

The curtains parted to reveal a wild and rugged landscape. An enchanted twilight added a soft glow to the scene. A flock of green-clad house-elves fluttered across the stage, giggling as they performed a complicated dance of some sort. Three female figures stood on the stage, a few feet apart: Asha, Altheda, and Amata. Amata was held tenderly in her lover's embrace. Asha - the curly-haired Augusta Moon - was the first to speak. She complained bitterly of her plight; she was stricken by a malady that no magic could cure. She raised her eyes pleadingly to heaven, sighed deeply and vomited into one of the little green bushes Dumbledore had transfigured for the play. "Where shall I find a cure?" moaned Asha between bouts of retching.

Scattered giggles were heard from the audience, and off-stage, Beery was groaning and covering his eyes. "I told her not to do any vomiting charms."

"Can anything restore my health?" gasped Asha. Bright green boils began to appear on her face and arms. Suddenly, a blood-red liquid began to squirt merrily from her head, and it splashed to the ground where it formed a small puddle.

"Wicked!" A small boy called out from the audience, and general laughter followed.

Tom, who was standing next to Harry in the wings, whispered: "Ah, I think Augusta has outdone herself this time! What, is Beery crying already?"

"Yes, I think so," whispered Harry back.

"I," said Altheda - Druella Rosier- firmly, "have been robbed and left destitute. I am oppressed by my poverty, and I can find no solace for my plight." The enchanted stage lights made the fabric of Druella's dress shimmer beautifully, and a confused murmur ran through the audience.

Amata's faithless lover, the dark Sanguini, played his part rather well, Harry thought. Sanguini, who had been clasping Araminta in his arms and muttering declarations of love, glanced over at Druella's white neck. Suddenly, he let Araminta go and rushed over to Druella, pressing a kiss against her alabaster throat before disappearing off stage. "I am abandoned by my lover," said Araminta coldly, rolling her eyes. "What could possibly cure my heartache?"

Together, the three ladies determined to go in search of the fabled Fountain of Fair Fortune, and the chorus chimed in with a few cheerful songs to help them on their way. The landscape flickered and changed; a tall garden wall covered in green creepers came into view.

"Your turn, Harry!" whispered Tom. Harry adjusted his cloak wearily, stepped out onto the stage and greeted the three ladies.

"I think the Fountain on Fair Fortune is on the other side of that wall," coughed Asha weakly. The next instant, one of the enchanted green creepers shot out and lifted the still vomiting Asha up in the air. Asha grabbed Altheda's hand, and Altheda reached for Amata. But Amata got tangled in Sir Luckless' cloak, and all four of them were hoisted high up over the wall. More creeping vines reached for them, and they were all lifted over the wall, to great applause from the audience. Augusta, Druella, and Harry scrambled to their feet, ready for the next change of scenery. But Araminta seemed to be stuck in the vines. She struggled furiously to free herself from the clinging creepers, but the more she struggled, the worse things seemed to get.

"Help! Help!"

Beery stared wild-eyed at the screaming Araminta. "What is happening? Why can't she free herself from the vines?"

Tom lifted an eyebrow. "I think that particular vine is a little different from the others, Professor. Devil's snare, if I'm not mistaken." He glanced sternly at Eileen Prince, who smiled innocently back.

"What?" croaked Beery. "Lu-Lumos..." As the sudden flash of light illuminated the stage, the vines dropped the choking Araminta with a sickening thud. Beery stared at the half-strangled, sobbing girl. "Now, how did that happen?"

"It's all right, professor." Eileen appeared at his side. "I can take over the role so poor Araminta can recover."

"Can you?" Beery glanced uncertainly at her. "Yes, yes, I suppose you'd better..."

Harry, Augusta, Druella, and Eileen walked quickly out onto the stage. Eileen turned to Harry. "Noble knight, will you join us on our quest?"

"Er..." Harry had a vague idea that he was supposed to respond in the affirmative, but he could not recall his line.

I am unworthy of that honor, fair lady, whispered a soft voice in Harry's mind. Voldemort. Harry repeated the line dutifully: "I am unworthy of that honor, fair lady."

You look charming in that green cloak, my dear, continued the voice in his head. Speaking of cloaks - I recall an occasion when one of my female death eaters attempted to seduce me. She confessed that she had long harbored a desire for me to ravish her while still wearing my cloak. Now, out of curiosity: If I were ever to visit your bed, would you also prefer that I wear my cloak while ravishing you?

Harry flushed scarlet and looked at the ground.

"Oh, excellent acting!" whispered Beery offstage. "How does he manage to blush like that?"

Much to Harry's relief, the Great Worm made its entrance shortly thereafter. The audience gasped as the Great White Worm slithered onto the stage. The monstrous pale creature was almost the size of a basilisk, and Harry felt himself reaching automatically for the sword that hung by his side. But why was the Great Worm acting so strangely? Rather than merely block their path, as it was enchanted to do, the Worm inched closer and closer to Eileen Prince, squirming weirdly as it did so.

"H-how will we ever get past this monster?" said Harry weakly, looking wearily at the worm. In response, the Worm began to rub itself rather suggestively against Eileen's leg. The audience began to snicker.

I think the Worm is in love, said the amused voice in Harry's head. A touch of amortentia, perhaps? It appears that the fair Araminta got her revenge on Eileen.

Harry groaned. "What will it take to let us pass?" he sighed, looking at the Worm. The Worm, wrapping itself lovingly around Eileen, ignored him.

*Hey! I'm talking to you! Knock it off, will you!* hissed Harry in Parseltongue. The Worm appeared to waver for an instant, but finally released Eileen and assumed its proper position on stage.

"What will it take to let us pass?" muttered Harry through clenched teeth.

"Proof of your pain," moaned the Worm grudgingly.

"I'm in pain, all right," muttered Eileen. "And so will Araminta be, when I get my hands on her."

"You want proof of my pain?" Augusta Moon began to cry copiously. Her bright, unnaturally large tears splashed to the floor, and a few squirts of blood followed for good measure.

"You may pass."

It was only Harry's stern whisper in Parseltongue that stopped the Worm from kissing Eileen as they dashed past it. The Worm hurried after them off stage, where Tom promptly blew it up with a quick Confringo spell. A nasty burning smell hovered in the air for a few moments, causing the people in the front row to cough and grimace.

The stage was rapidly transformed into a steep, hilly landscape. Asha, Altheda, Amata and Sir Luckless tried repeatedly to climb the slope that rose before them, but they kept sliding back down the slick hill.

So smooth and moist... whispered the voice in Harry's mind. Harry glared at Voldemort, who was barely visible in the darkened hall. He was fairly certain that was not the right line.

What will it take to let us climb this slope? Tom's voice murmured in his mind. And stay out of Harry's mind, or this play will end with the tragic choking death of Mr. Gaunt.

"What will it take to let us climb this slope?" declaimed Harry.

"The fruits of your labors," said the slope in a deep mysterious voice. Suddenly, fruit started pelting down from the ceiling, and the audience started laughing uproariously.

"What's this?" cried Professor Beery in the wings. "Who did that?"

"Sorry Professor," whispered Augusta. "I thought it would be a nice touch. Here, I'll make it stop." She ducked a pineapple and muttered a quick charm.

The slope eventually accepted the perspiration from Altheda's brow as the fruits of their labors, and Druella was perspiring so much at this point that Augusta's sweat charm was rendered almost superfluous.

Finally, the four of them arrived at a bubbling stream, and Amata gracefully extracted a memory from her head with her wand in order to pay the required price of "a treasure of your past". Harry strongly suspected that the memory Eileen pulled from her head and dumped in the water with a shudder was the recollection of the Great Worm's amorous advances.

When they reached the bubbling Fountain of Fair Fortune, Asha sank to the ground, looking deathly ill. Augusta Moon spit a little extra blood and some bright green goo for good effect.

"Here," said Druella through gritted teeth and reached for a small bottle hidden at her bosom. "Perhaps this potion will revive you."

Augusta took a small sip from the bottle. Then her eyes widened. Suddenly, she flung her arms around Druella.

"What are you doing?" hissed Druella.

Augusta blinked slowly. "You know, I'm really not sure. But you are so terribly pretty, Druella. I wonder why I didn't notice that before. And your dress is so shiny, like a star..." She kissed Druella softly on the neck. The audience snickered.

Druella stared at the Gryffindor girl in horror. "Oh, Merlin, don't tell me I grabbed the wrong bottle... I think I'm going to throw up now."

"Do not touch Druella's neck!" Suddenly, Sanguini appeared out of nowhere, a look of dark fury on his handsome face. He pointed his wand at Augusta with a trembling hand.

Augusta seemed confused. "Why are you trembling? Are you getting sick? Here, have some of this potion; it's really good... I got it from this lovely celestial creature right here."

Harry groaned as Sanguini took a quick gulp of the potion. The vampire yanked Druella towards him and glared at Augusta, who glared right back at him. They both circled slowly around Druella, muttering things under their breaths. It was Augusta who struck the first blow, and soon a full-blown fistfight was underway. The chorus quickly drowned the noise from the fight in a lovely song about healing, and a few house-elves pirouetted by.

Eileen giggled slightly and raised her eyes to Harry. "It appears that we have come to the end of the journey, Sir Luckless."

Oh, Merlin, I hope so! thought Harry wearily. He reached for Eileen's hand.

I dreamed about you last night, Harry, said Voldemort's voice in his head. You were moaning in my arms.

It appears that we had the same dream, then, said another voice. No, wait - I wasn't dreaming...

Harry blushed again and cupped Eileen's pale face in his hands. Oh, Merlin, I'm about to kiss Snape's mother. Slowly, he touched his lips to hers, acutely conscious that both Tom and Voldemort were watching him in fascination now. The first soft touch was followed by a rush of sighs and whispers in his mind. Harry realized that both Tom and the Dark Lord found the kiss rather arousing, and he felt slightly dizzy. Without thinking, he deepened the kiss, and Eileen went strangely limp in his arms. It was only when Eileen began to whimper that he came to his senses and released her. Eileen stood rooted to the spot, gazing up at him with shining eyes.

The final curtain fell, and Beery rushed out on stage. "Magnificent acting, Elias! Truly magnificent. As for the rest of you..." He shuddered and buried his face in his hands.

Harry felt Tom touch his shoulder lightly. "You were wonderful, Elias! But I don't think that Professor Beery will be in a hurry to put on another pantomime after this."

"That was fantastic!" A small first-year boy had found his way up on stage. He was gazing up at Augusta Moon with adoration. "I wish I was as good at magic as you."

"Why, thank you, Bertie!" The bloodied and disheveled Augusta looked very pleased at the compliment. "Now, where did Druella go?"

"Oh, please! Augusta's magic was disgusting." Eileen wrinkled her nose.

The little boy beamed. "I know, right? I love disgusting things."

Eileen gave him a weary look. "We know that, Botts. We are all very tired of finding your revolting sticky sweets all over school. But Augusta's spells are even nastier than your candy could ever be."

"Really?" The boy appeared to ponder this for a moment. "Well, we'll see about that, Miss Prince." He walked away, grinning to himself.

"Ah, there you are, Herbert!" Dumbledore approached Beery, beaming. "That went rather well, don't you think? I must admit that I had initially assumed that a play based on a fairy tale might be a bit tedious, but it was far more amusing than I expected. I will write down the details of that performance for posterity, as I promised you."

Beery's eyes widened. "No... No, Albus. I think you had better... edit the details a little."

"Edit? As you wish." Dumbledore nodded pleasantly.

...

"That," said Ginny, "was a lovely play, Harry. I adored the final scene where you were making out with Snape's mother while Neville's grandmother was fighting the handsome vampire for Bellatrix' mum in the background."

Alphard squeezed her hand affectionately. "I told you it was worth coming to 1945 for."

The five of them were seated in front of the fireplace in Tom's study. My ex-girlfriend from the future, her lover, my lover, and my lover's future self. Harry was too tired to give much thought to how strange it was that they were all sitting here together.

Alphard and Ginny were holding hands, and Harry was leaning against Tom's shoulder. Voldemort was regarding them all with a little smile.

"So, let's see," muttered Harry sleepily. "There were seven vials of love potion. Lupin gave some to Abraxas, the headmaster drank Slughorn's potion, Araminta fed Eileen's to the Great Worm, and Sanguini and Augusta Moon shared Druella's. Oh, and Abraxas put some in my carrots. That makes five vials. I wonder what happened to the other two?"

Alphard flushed a little and pulled a vial from his pocket. "Well, it's probably not going to make much difference for us, Ginny, but I thought it would be interesting to try."

Ginny laughed and kissed him on the cheek. "That's so sweet of you, Alphard. Yes, let's try it! I wonder what happened to the seventh vial, though."

"And I wonder what happened to my carrots," mused Harry. "What do they do with leftovers after dinner? I hope they don't feed them to the owls or something, or Abraxas will have birds following him everywhere he goes..."

Ginny giggled. "That would be rather funny, wouldn't it?"

Tom smiled. "I think it would..." He kissed Harry softly on top of the head. "But now, we have more serious matters to attend to. Alphard, do you have the memory?"

Alphard nodded and produced another vial from his pocket, this one containing a silver mist. "This is Regulus' memory of his last meeting with Voldemort. Well, the last one before he was brutally murdered by the Dark Lord." His glance flickered uncertainly to Voldemort's dark form.

"Are you sure you want to do this, Harry?" Tom's voice was a whisper. "Perhaps I can enter the memory instead."

Harry shook his head. "No, Tom. It's got to be me. I'm the one who is destined to face the Dark Lord, remember?"

"He is right, Tom." Voldemort spoke softly. "This is the way it was meant to be." His dark grey eyes lingered on Harry's face. "You played your part well in the amusing little pantomime tonight, my dear. And you have played the part of Elias Black rather convincingly as well. But are you ready for your next role, in a far darker and more dangerous play? Are you ready to play the part of Regulus Black in front of an unsuspecting Dark Lord?"

Harry nodded. "I'm ready."


	24. Chapter 24

Night had fallen, and only the golden light from the fireplace illuminated the study. Ginny was leaning her head on Alphard's shoulder now; her hair were tendrils of flame against his dark robes. Harry marveled at how effortlessly they seemed to fuse together, the boy from the past and the girl from the future. He played absently with Alphard's golden time turner.

"Are you sure you are ready to go to the Riddle House, Harry?" Tom took the small glittering vial containing Regulus' memory from Alphard. The flickering light from the fireplace cast a warm glow over his face. Tom regarded the little silver swirl of memory in the stoppered bottle thoughtfully. "What a terribly strange thought, Harry, that you will go to the Riddle House to commit murder... just like I once did." He swallowed. "I murdered my father, and you will kill his murderer."

"Harry needs to explore the memory first." Voldemort spoke softly from the shadows. "He needs to become familiar with the Riddle House and with the Dark Lord of that time first. Tom and I will come with you, Harry, and we will guide you through the memory. Then we can come back here and enchant the memory so you can use it to travel back to that moment in the past."

Harry nodded. "I'm ready." He felt his heart pounding in his chest.

"You... you want me to come with you and Harry into the memory... back to the Riddle House?" Tom whispered.

"Yes, I do." Voldemort stirred in the shadows. "What better guides could he have? We know that house well, don't we? I spent quite a bit of time there, and even though you only came there once, something tells me that you remember it well. I imagine that the Riddle House used to haunt your dreams... What's the matter, Tom? You are not frightened, are you? Afraid of your father's ghost, perhaps?"

Tom grew pale for a moment, but then he lifted his head and stared defiantly at Voldemort. "Perhaps I am. I am still human enough to feel fear. Are you?"

"Oh, I still have human emotions, Tom. Did you doubt that?" A white hand reached out from the shadows and brushed Harry's cheek gently.

"Will you stop that!" Tom hissed.

"I do, however, have more control over my emotions than you do," said Voldemort lightly.

"Oh, stop it." Harry took the vial from Tom's hand. "How will I assassinate the Dark Lord if you two keep distracting me?" He got up from his chair. "Let's go find the headmaster's Pensieve... No, wait, Professor Dippet doesn't have a Pensieve, does he? I was expecting to see it in the headmaster's office when I first arrived in this time, but it wasn't there. Where will we find a Pensieve?"

"Albus Dumbledore has one in his office." Tom got up as well. "He told me that he often uses it to re-live his favorite Quidditch matches."

Harry laughed. "That sounds like Dumbledore. Let's go find him, shall we?"

...

"Come in!" Dumbledore glanced up from his work and greeted the three visitors cheerfully. "Hello, Harry. Good evening Tom and..."

"This is my guardian," put in Harry, with a quick glance at Voldemort.

Dumbledore peered at them over his half-moon spectacles and beamed. "Oh, a time paradox? How interesting!" Over in the corner, a scarlet bird fluted softly in its cage.

"Good evening, Professor Dumbledore. I am Mr. Gaunt, Elias' guardian," said Voldemort, eying Dumbledore warily.

Dumbledore chuckled. "Are you, Tom?"

Voldemort stared at him. "What? What makes you call me that? I'm not Tom, Professor."

"Aren't you? I wouldn't be so certain of that." Dumbledore calmly put down the quill he had been writing with and blotted the parchment before him carefully. "What can I do for you two - oh, I'm sorry, three - gentlemen this evening?"

"We were wondering if we could borrow your Pensieve, sir," said Harry weakly.

"My Pensieve? Yes, of course." If Dumbledore thought this was an odd request, he certainly didn't show it. Dumbledore got up from his desk and opened an old cupboard on the far wall to reveal the familiar rune-edged stone basin. "Did you bring your own memory, or do you wish to borrow one of mine? I have an excellent collection, if you are interested, including my recollection of the spectacular match between Puddlemere United and the Wigtown Wanderers in 1937. There is a reason why they tightened up on ball regulations in the years that followed; the poor Bagman kid was never quite right after that gyrating bludger hit him."

"We brought our own memory." Harry pulled the vial from his pocket.

"Then go right ahead, Harry. Don't mind me; I'll be here working when you come back from the past."

"We are going to the future, Professor." Harry unstoppered the vial and poured its glittering contents into the waters of the Pensieve.

"Ah. Visiting someone's memories of things that haven't happened yet? Good luck, Harry." Dumbledore scratched his nose with his quill and bent down over his work again. "And you too, Tom," he added, seemingly as an afterthought.

"Thank you." Tom and Voldemort spoke together, and Harry saw a slight smile hover behind Dumbledore's beard.

...

It was night in Little Hangleton. A boy of about eighteen stood in front of a tall wrought iron gate and looked up at the manor house that lay half-hidden behind the darkened trees. The boy was dressed in dark robes, and the moonlight cast a silver sheen over his long, black curls. The boy turned anxiously and looked behind him for a moment, as if he had been startled by some slight sound from the bushes.

Harry's breath caught in his chest as he gazed at the boy's pale face. He had not realized that Regulus Black had looked so very much like his brother Sirius.

Footsteps sounded in the still night air, and a stooped, dark-clad figure could be seen walking down the dim garden path towards the gate. The figure held up a flickering lantern and regarded Regulus Black through the iron bars for a moment. Then he muttered in an odd creaky sort of voice: "The master is expecting you. Follow me."

The gate swung open with a hollow groaning sound, and Regulus Black stepped hesitantly into the garden.

Harry, Tom, and Voldemort followed the servant and Regulus up the garden path. They moved silently, like ghosts; their footsteps made no sound against the gravel path.

"Who is he?" whispered Tom. "The servant. I don't recognize him."

"I do." Harry regarded the all too familiar form of the squat bandy-legged little wizard with a great deal of dislike. "It's Mundungus Fletcher, isn't it? I thought he worked for the Order of the Phoenix, but it appears that he was Voldemort's man after all."

Voldemort laughed. "Mundungus? Oh, that two-faced little rat was no more loyal to me than he was to Dumbledore and his Order. He was a double agent for me for a while, until the day he disappeared with half the antique silver the Riddle family owned. I let him go; the idea of old Mrs. Riddle's precious silver sold for a few sickles on the black market amused me."

Regulus and Mundungus' footsteps crunched against the gravel path, and an owl hooted somewhere nearby. Tom glanced up at the moon-washed facade of the imposing manor house and swallowed. Harry reached out for Tom's hand and squeezed it softly.

"Feels odd, doesn't it, Tom? To be back here?" Voldemort's voice was surprisingly gentle. Tom nodded wordlessly.

Harry glanced over at the dark-cloaked man by his side. "Why did you choose this place as your headquarters? Your father's ancestral home?"

Voldemort looked at the pale expanse of the Riddle House, his face impassive, as he replied: "Perhaps I felt that I belonged, here, Harry."

The massive front door creaked open before them, and they followed Mundungus and Regulus silently into a great marble entrance hall.

"Wait here." Mundungus disappeared, and Regulus stood silently and gazed around the hall for a moment. He seemed nervous; he kept fiddling with the edge of his cloak. An glittering crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling, but it was unlit. Instead, flickering torches mounted along the walls cast the entrance hall in a dim half-light.

Harry walked slowly in front of Regulus Black and studied the almost familiar face curiously. Regulus had Sirius' curls, wild and long and dark, and his eyes were grey like his brother's. But his features were softer than Sirius', and something in the delicate curves of his cheeks made him seem almost like a child. But of course he was no child. How old was he? Seventeen or eighteen, perhaps? And there was something in his eyes that was not childlike at all, something weary and haunted, that reminded Harry of the mad Sirius from the Wanted posters. Harry reached out, hesitantly, trying to touch Regulus' black curls, but there was nothing there to touch. A memory. He is nothing more than a memory.

"The master will see you now." Mundungus reappeared. He led Regulus off to a large room on their right, and the three visitors followed them, unseen and unheard, into a vast, dilapidated sitting room. A dark-clad figure was standing by an unlit fireplace, waiting. His face was half-hidden in shadows.

"You used this room?" Tom's glance flickered over to Voldemort. "Of all the rooms in this house, you chose this one?" His voice was a whisper. "The room where... they died?"

"Yes, Tom. I chose this room." There was no emotion whatsoever in Voldemort's silver voice.

Harry glanced around the immense sitting room; it was tastefully furnished with old mahogany and silk upholstery, and it was easy to tell that the room had once been magnificent. Now, a thin layer of grey dust covered the furnishings, and tarnished silver vases stood empty on the tables. What must once have been delicate white curtains hung like dank shrouds over the tall arched windows.

"Did you ever see them in here?" Tom glanced at Voldemort. "Father, grandmother, and grandfather... Did you ever see their ghosts in here?"

There was a slight pause. "Sometimes." Voldemort's voice was quiet and even, but his face was whiter than snow.

"Ah, Regulus." The dark-clad figure from the memory stepped out from the shadows now. Harry drew his breath sharply. The man in front of him was both Voldemort and Tom, and yet different from them both, a curiously familiar stranger. The Voldemort of Regulus' time still had Tom's dark curls, and a trace of Tom's angelic beauty still lingered over his cold features. But his skin was unnaturally, deathly pale, and his eyes gleamed scarlet.

Harry stared at him. Tom. My Tom, corrupted by evil, my Tom, turned to stone and ice. My angel, turned into an angel of death.

"I can't feel his thoughts." Harry's voice was a whisper.

"Of course you can't," said Voldemort softly. "He isn't real, Harry. He is just a recollection, seen through the eyes of Regulus Black, the young death eater who is about to die."

Harry watched with a beating heart as the young boy with the dark curls approached his Dark Lord and was greeted with a smile. "Is this how you remember it, too?" Harry asked Voldemort hesitantly.

Voldemort stood silently for a moment, gazing around the room. Then he nodded. "Yes. Yes, Harry, this is how it was. I still remember the evening Regulus Black came to see me. I remember the lights from the candles falling over his face just like this-" He reached out and touched the insubstantial recollection of Regulus Black, but Regulus did not appear to notice him. Voldemort glanced towards the arched window on the far wall. The moonlit garden was visible through the remnants of pale curtains that covered the window, and an ancient yew tree loomed dark just beyond the beveled glass. "But I seem to remember that it was raining. Regulus had little rain drops in his hair..." Voldemort's hand hovered near the young boy's hair now. "Odd, that he should not remember that it was raining. That is the part of this evening I remember most clearly myself."

"You wish to see me, Regulus?" The Dark Lord from the memory spoke softly. "Come, sit with me by the fire. Mundungus, bring us some wine."

Mundungus nodded gruffly and disappeared, and Regulus sat down on the edge of one of the armchairs by the fireplace, a hectic blush of nervousness on his face now.

The man who was both Tom and Voldemort flicked his wand, and the flames in the fireplace roared to life. Harry half expected to feel the warmth from the fire from where he was standing by Regulus' side, but he didn't. But Regulus appeared to sense the warmth from the remembered flames, for he stretched his hands hesitantly towards the fire. Harry could see that his pale hands were shaking slightly.

"Ah, here's Mundungus with the wine. You can leave us now, Mundungus. It appears that Regulus wishes to speak to me in private." Did the Dark Lord of the Riddle House sound more like Tom or like Voldemort? Harry couldn't decide.

Mundungus shuffled away sullenly, and the Dark Lord leaned forward a little. "What did you wish to speak to me about, Regulus?"

The boy drank deeply from his wine, as if to give himself courage. Then he whispered: "My lord, I am concerned..."

"Concerned, Regulus? About what?" The Dark Lord's voice was soft.

The wine cup trembled in Regulus' hand. "About the new pureblood society, my lord. It is such a beautiful thought: All the ancient wizarding families of Britain stepping out into the light and claiming our rightful place as rulers of this country. It is absurd that we should have to hide our very existence from the Muggles. Why should we have to hide, when we are the ones who have power? Why should we hide from the people that we are meant to rule? The Ministry regulations mandating that we conceal what we are from the Muggles are meaningless; if I were to use magic in front of a Muggle, I should be able to watch the startled Muggle drop to his knees and worship me, rather than fear arrest at the hands of the Ministry. Why should we have to hide our nature? Why should we hide our gifts?"

A brief smile flickered over the Dark Lord's face. "My thoughts exactly, Regulus."

"However..." Regulus drained his wine cup in one gulp. "We should not have to rule by terror, my lord. Your death eaters have gone too far. Innocent Muggles have been tortured, simply because some of your most brutal followers take pleasure in their suffering. And even wizards have suffered at their hands, and at your hands, my Lord." Regulus swallowed. "My lord, this... this is not what I thought it would be like... All this violence, the meaningless torture. It is unnecessary and barbaric; we are born to rule the world, but not to terrorize it. We are wizards; we are nature's nobility, and yet your death eaters act like animals... I cannot be part of this any longer."

The Dark Lord's glance lingered on the young boy. "You cannot be part of this? What do you intend to do, then, Regulus?"

Regulus was shaking now. But he glanced bravely up at the other man. "I no longer wish to be a death eater, my lord"

A silence followed. Then the Dark Lord of the memory said gently. "You no longer wish to be a death eater? I would urge you to think before making such a rash decision, my dear."

The boy shook his head. "My decision is made, my lord."

"No, Regulus." The Dark Lord rose. "I beg you to think it over for two or three days. Then, if your decision is still the same, come back and see me. But consider, first, what the consequences of your choice would be..."

"I don't understand." Tom spoke by Harry's side. "I would have thought the Dark Lord would have killed the boy on the spot."

Voldemort smiled slightly. "Oh, I would have, had he been one of my other death eaters. But I had a soft spot for Regulus, and I was hoping that he would change his mind. He was a pure-blood wizard, you see, from a noble, ancient house. I think he represented to me what I myself had longed to be. I, who was an impoverished half-blood... I am sure you understand me, Tom."

Tom nodded slowly. "Yes, perhaps I do... Perhaps you wished to spare Regulus for the same reason I became engaged to Walburga Black: To become part of the aristocratic world of old magic..."

"You were engaged to Walburga Black?" Voldemort stared at Tom.

Tom flushed. "Briefly. That was before I got to know Harry, of course."

Harry followed Regulus Black with his glance as the boy got up and walked slowly to the door. "So what happened to Regulus after this?"

"He died two days later," said Voldemort quietly. "By my hand. I... I regretted his death. Sometimes in the years that followed, I recalled the rain in his hair, and I wished that he had been more reasonable..."

The door closed behind Regulus. The half-familiar Dark Lord of Regulus' time walked over to the window and stood quietly, looking out into the night. Harry could see his reflection in the darkened glass; at this distance, he looked remarkably like Tom.

The elegant sitting-room flickered and faded, and a moment later, Harry, Tom and Voldemort found themselves back in Dumbledore's office. Fawkes greeted them with a shrill cry and burst into a violent blast of flames.

Voldemort regarded the burning bird for a moment, as if mesmerized by the incandescent flames. Then he murmured: "Believe me, Harry, I wish that evening in Riddle House had been different."

The flames inside the golden cage flared brightly for another moment, then they flickered and died, leaving only a small pile of ashes behind. Dumbledore looked up from his work. "Ah, about time." Harry couldn't tell if he was talking about Fawkes or Voldemort.

Harry glanced back at the silver waters of the Pensieve and breathed deeply. He pulled the golden time turner out of his pocket and lowered it into the luminous mist of the basin. "It will be different," he said softly.


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A reviewer from FFN, TrippingOverYou, raises an interesting question: Didn't Regulus die while recovering the locket horcrux from the cave? Well, according to Kreacher he did:"And he ordered - Kreacher to leave - without him. And he told Kreacher - to go home - and never tell my mistress - what he had done - but to destroy - the first locket. And he drank - all the potion - and Kreacher swapped the lockets - and watched... as Master Regulus... was dragged beneath the water... and..." (Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Chapter 10). And yet, this contradicts what Sirius told Harry about his brother's death: "No, he was murdered by Voldemort. Or on Voldemort's orders, more likely, I doubt Regulus was ever important enough to be killed by Voldemort in person." (Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, Chapter 6). It is of course possible that Sirius didn't know exactly how his brother died. But perhaps there is a way to reconcile these two statements about Regulus' death in the canon? We will see.

Harry looked down into the swirling waters of the Pensieve. The time turner sent little golden ripples pulsing through the glittering water. By his side, Tom uttered a soft spell in a language Harry did not recognize: "U temti rishar takki-me huttah..."

Dumbledore glanced up from his work for a brief moment and smiled before bending over his parchment again.

Harry drew his breath deeply. "So when I enter into this memory, I will be Regulus Black?"

Tom nodded. His face was pale. "I believe so, yes. The memory I just enchanted is his, after all. You should be able to see the past through his eyes. But remember, my love: This time you will not enter a mere recollection of the past. This time, you will enter the past itself, just like you did when you first came to Hogwarts as Elias Black. And because your visit to Little Hangleton is real, you will be able to change that past into anything you want. You have the power to draw your wand and kill the unsuspecting Dark Lord. But remember, my love: He also has the power to kill you. Be careful."

Harry nodded wordlessly. His glance flickered over to the dark-clad Voldemort, who hovered silently by Tom's side. The luminous mist from the Pensieve cast a light silvery sheen over Voldemort's black cloak. The Dark Lord looked up, and his eyes met Harry's for a moment. There was a strange soft look in them that reminded Harry, irresistibly, of Tom.

"One of us must die at the hand of the other." Voldemort's voice was calm and even. "This is how it has to be, Harry."

The door to Dumbledore's office creaked open behind them. Harry turned around, startled, and saw Alphard Black linger hesitantly in the doorway.

"Another visitor this evening?" Dumbledore smiled at the Slytherin boy. "Have you come to explore memories of the future as well, Alphard?"

Alphard blinked in surprise. He looked uncertainly at Dumbledore for a moment, then he shook his head. "No, professor. I... I have come to tell Elias something."

"Ah, I see. Well, in that case, just pretend I'm not even here." Dumbledore began writing again.

Alphard turned to Harry. "I have been thinking about what you are about to do, Harry, and I think you need to know what happened to Regulus in the days that followed the events of that memory."

"Regulus Black was murdered, yes." Voldemort spoke quietly.

Alphard flinched. He did not meet Voldemort's gaze. "Yes, I know. But there is also something else... My nephew Regulus Black had a secret, you see. A secret from you. A secret from the Dark Lord. I was reluctant to mention it at first, especially in front of Tom and... and you... but I have come to realize that it is something Harry should know."

"Regulus Black kept a secret from me?" Voldemort studied the face of the pale Slytherin boy intently. "What sort of secret?"

Alphard drew a deep breath. "He had discovered that you had created horcruxes."

Voldemort and Tom glanced at each other for a moment. "So Regulus Black knew about that?" Tom's voice was a whisper.

"Regulus knew, yes." Alphard's gaze traveled hesitantly to Dumbledore, but Dumbledore appeared quite immersed in his work. "And he was able to steal one of the horcruxes, a silver locket."

"Regulus had the silver locket?" There was a sharp edge to Voldemort's voice now. "How is that possible? Even if he guessed where it was hidden, he would not have been able to retrieve it."

"A loyal house elf helped him get to the cave," whispered Alphard. "The house elf helped him replace the true horcrux with a fake. But Regulus was swept under the waves, down to the waiting inferi..." He swallowed.

"Regulus went to the cave?" There was a slight tremor in Voldemort's voice. "I was wondering what had happened to him..."

Voldemort gazed into the silvery mist of the Regulus Black's memory for a moment. His face was deathly pale in the glow from the Pensieve.

"It was raining the day Regulus died," he said softly. "It was such an odd day. I felt strangely restless in my father's house. I looked out at the rain that danced against the windowpane, and suddenly I wished that Regulus would come back and tell me that he had changed his mind. I summoned a house elf, an odd little crumpled creature one of my death eaters had gifted to me. Winzy, I think his name was. I told Winzy to go and fetch me master Regulus at once, and the elf obeyed. But hours passed, and I grew impatient waiting for the elf to bring him back. The Riddle House seemed more desolate than usual that day, and something always seemed to stir in the shadows... And then the elf arrived with Regulus. What a sorry state he was in! Half drowned, by the looks of him. I wondered if he had tried to kill himself, as a way of escaping from his Dark Lord. I dismissed the elf, and soon I had Regulus sitting in front of the fire. My spells had revived him, but there was still a look of terror in his eyes. He sat for a long time without talking, as his damp curls slowly dried in the heat from the fire. I found myself half wondering if his curls would feel soft to the touch... Finally, Regulus spoke, and his voice sounded weary. "I suppose you saved my life," he said, staring into the fire. "But I'm afraid it was all for nothing..." I knew then what his answer to me would be. I knew that he had turned away from me in his heart. Regulus Black was no longer a death eater. He didn't even seem afraid when I drew my wand, just tired. "I'm ready, my Lord," he whispered. "Do what you must." And I bent over him and pointed my wand at his heart. But before I uttered the deadly curse, I ran my hand through his hair, and I leaned forward and touched his lips with mine, just for an instant. His lips tasted salty and bitter and sweet, all at the same time. I think I can recall that taste on my lips even now... Then I spoke the curse, and he crumpled to the floor. It wasn't until later that I realized that he fell in the same spot where my father had fallen, years before..." Voldemort's voice trailed away. He stood silently for a moment. Then he added in a whisper: "And in a moment, Regulus Black will be back at the Riddle House."

Voldemort's glance fell on Harry. Suddenly, the Dark Lord stiffened. "What is that around your neck, my dear? That silver chain?"

Harry pulled the silver locket silently out from under his shirt. It shone brightly in the silvery mist from the Pensieve. After a moment's hesitation, Voldemort reached out with a long, pale hand and touched the locket. His dark grey eyes searched Harry's face. "Now, how did you get the locket, my dear?" His voice trembled ever so slightly

"I gave it to him." Tom wrapped his arm around Harry's shoulder. "The first night we spent together."

If Dumbledore thought the conversation in his office had taken a strange turn, he certainly didn't let on; he dipped his quill serenely in the ink bottle and kept writing.

"You gave it to him?" Voldemort brushed his finger slowly over the silver chain. His touch grazed Harry's skin lightly. "That was a generous gift, Tom. But perhaps I would have been equally generous in your place..." Harry glanced up and met Voldemort's darkened gaze. His cheeks grew hot, and he turned away rapidly.

"Perhaps you are the ghost of Regulus Black come back to haunt me," Voldemort murmured against Harry's cheek.

Harry drew back and tucked the locket back under his shirt. It felt heavy and curiously cold against his skin.

"I am ready now." Harry looked at Tom and Voldemort in turn, breathed deeply and plunged himself into the Pensieve.

...

It was night in Little Hangleton. But the night felt strangely different from the one Regulus Black had remembered. Perhaps, thought Harry, all memories fade with time, become less than real...The cool air was full of scents now: the ancient, musty smell of yew mingled with the fragrance of lilac and earth and rain. Harry stood in front of the high wrought iron gate and looked up at the manor house that floated like a pale apparition behind the darkened trees. He put out a hand and touched the gate; the rain-slicked metal felt cold and ungiving under his hands. Real. It feels real. There was a slight gossamer whisper of rain in the air; tiny droplets fell against Harry's face and clung to his hair. The night was all about him now, dark and impenetrable. But the next moment, a light wind brushed the clouds aside, and a wan silver moon appeared in the sky, casting the garden beyond the gate in a pale ghostly light.

Heavy footsteps sounded along the gravel path, and Harry watched, breathlessly, as the familiar form of Mundungus Fletcher approached him. Mundungus Fletcher at the Riddle House. Is some of their silver already in your pockets, I wonder? Mundungus raised a flickering lantern and regarded Harry with dark, beady eyes through the iron bars for a moment. Harry held his breath, half expecting Mundungus to remember him from the future. He reached up and touched the unfamiliar rain-damp curls that hung about his neck. Regulus. I am Regulus Black now. Will you see me as Master Black as well, or will some strange recollection of a boy with a scar stir in your mind? But Mundungus merely sighed and muttered: "The master is expecting you. Follow me."

Harry followed Mundungus silently up the garden path. The scuff of his footsteps on the gravel seemed much too loud in the silent night air. He noticed that the moonlit garden had an air of neglect; it was overrun with nettles and tall, unkempt grass. Wild artemisia gleamed in the pale moonlight, and dark yew trees loomed along the path. The deserted black and silver garden had a faint graveyard air about it, and Harry remembered, with a sudden start, that the graveyard where Voldemort had risen again must be somewhere quite near, perhaps just down the lane. I almost forgot. This is not the first time I meet Voldemort in Little Hangleton. Somewhere nearby, a lone owl hooted mournfully.

Mundungus led Harry into the vast marble foyer. "Wait here."

He disappeared, and Harry stood for a moment in silence and looked around the high hushed entrance hall of Riddle House. The air felt cold and stale in here, and goosebumps formed on his flesh. Somewhere nearby, he could hear the ticking of a clock measuring out the slow rhythm of time, out of beat with his own racing heart. Harry glanced up at the pale marble walls. All at once, he noticed three faint dark shadows along the walls, as if portraits had once hung there. Perhaps even the Dark Lord did not want to walk past the portraits of his murdered father and grandparents.

"The master will see you now." Mundungus reappeared, and Harry followed him wordlessly into the familiar dilapidated sitting room, where a dark figure hovered in the shadows by the unlit fireplace.

"Ah, Regulus." Harry heard the faint rustle of a cloak as the dark-clad figure stepped out into the light of the flickering candles. The Dark Lord. Harry felt a dark thrill at his spine as he saw the familiar face, so cold and cruel, and yet so terribly beautiful... Tom. Voldemort. You.

"You wish to see me, Regulus?" The man who was neither quite Tom nor quite Voldemort stepped closer. "Come, sit with me by the fire. Mundungus, bring us some wine."

Mundungus nodded gruffly and was about to disappear when Harry grabbed his arm. He had noticed Mundungus' glance lingering on the silver chain around his neck, and his old anger over Mundungus' thefts from the future rose to the surface. Harry leaned forward and whispered in Mundungus' ear: "Be careful, Mundugus! If you ever visit the Black House, you will do well to remember that there is an ancient curse upon our treasures that will protect them from pilfering fingers."

Mundungus eyes widened, and he swallowed audibly. He nodded briefly and scurried rapidly to the door.

The Dark Lord smiled slightly. "What was that about, Regulus?" He flicked his wand, and the flames in the fireplace began to cast a warm golden glow over the darkened room.

"Ah, here's Mundungus with the wine. You can leave us now, Mundungus. It appears that Regulus wishes to speak to me in private."

Mundungus darted away, and the Dark Lord drew closer to Harry. "What did you wish to speak to me about, Regulus?" Suddenly, Voldemort stopped, frozen mid-step. "What in Merlin's name-?" His voice was a startled whisper, and he stared at Harry as if he had seen a ghost. "What is happening? What is this strange sensation flooding through my mind? It feels like you are touching my mind with yours..."

Do you recognize me, Tom? The thought flickered through Harry's mind, and Voldemort's eyes widened.

"Recognize you? Regulus? What sort of magic is this?" Voldemort stepped closer, his crimson glance fixed on Harry's face. "And why are you calling me "Tom"? Where did you hear of that name?"

Harry gazed at the cold, angelic face of the man in front of him, the Dark Lord of this unfamiliar time, of this strange no man's land between past and future. Voldemort's thoughts flowed into Harry's mind, dark, jagged, torn apart by murder...

Do you remember me, Tom?

"Regulus?" The Dark Lord was pale as death.

I remember you, Tom. I remember that you killed you father in this room. Do you remember, Tom? You told me about it the night you gave me this horcrux.

Harry felt the sudden superstitious dread that pulsed through the Dark Lord's broken soul as he pulled the silver locket out from his robes.

"Where did you get that? Who are you?" Voldemort's voice was almost inaudible. "What are you and where did you come from? You are not Regulus; you are a ghost or a dream of some sort. What are these strange images that fill my mind all of a sudden, sweet dreams of a boy with eyes the color of the Avada curse? He speaks in the ancient serpent tongue, and his skin is warm against mine. I never knew that anything in the world could feel this sweet... "

Harry reached out and touched the cold face before him. "I am your soul, Tom. But tonight I am you assassin. I have come from the past and the future to set time right again."

"You are my soul?" The Dark Lord's voice was a whisper.

"I love you, Tom." Harry's heart hammered in his chest, and his fingers closed around his wand. He leaned forward and brushed the Dark Lord's lips with his own.

"You love me?" Voldemort's words were faint, like a breath against his lips.

Their first kiss tasted of salt and rain. The second had a bitter taste of fear. But the third kiss was sweet and tasted like heather.

Harry pointed his wand at the Dark Lord's heart. "Avada kedavra."


	26. Chapter 26

Harry stood immovable for a moment, staring at the crumpled body on the floor. The Dark Lord looked strangely innocent in death; his eyes were closed, and it was easy to imagine now that they had been grey rather than crimson. The cruelty that had haunted his features was no longer visible in the soft lines of his angelic face. The cold moonlight that streamed through the windows cast a silver sheen over his dark hair. Harry felt his breath catching in his throat. A murder. I have committed a murder now.

I have followed in your footsteps, Tom. Tonight, I committed a murder in the Riddle House. Tonight, I committed a murder in Little Hangleton. Tonight, I killed the spare...

Harry shuddered violently as he bent down over the still form and ran his fingers through the moon-silvered hair. You were only a dark dream of a future that will never be... Then he pressed a soft kiss to the cold lips and cried.

...

Harry's face was still wet with tears when Tom lifted him gently up from the floor in Dumbledore's office a moment later. Tom brushed the tears from his face with warm hands. The next instant, Harry felt another, colder hand tremble against his face as well.

"You did well, my love." Tom's voice was a whisper.

Harry raised his eyes and stared into Tom's face, flushed with beauty and life. The still, pale face of the Dark Lord of Riddle House was still burning in his memory. Harry flung his arms around Tom and clung to him, desperately. "I killed Voldemort," he whispered.

"Of course you did, my child." Voldemort spoke gently, his voice strangely soothing.

"I fired the killing curse at you, just like you once fired the killing curse at me." Harry struggled to keep his voice steady. "And yet, we are both still here... Somehow, we both survived the killing curse..."

The Dark Lord bowed his head gravely. "Yes, Harry. We are still here, you and I."

"Thank you, Elias." Alphard Black spoke softly by his side. His face was pale, but his dark eyes were shining. "May I... may I have the time turner back now? There are some people I am anxious to see."

"Yes, of course." Harry handed the time turner to Alphard. "Let me know how... how everything turns out, will you?"

Alphard nodded silently and walked to the door.

Dumbledore glanced up from his work for a moment. "Have a good night, Mr. Black."

"Good night, Professor. Thank you for lending us the Pensieve."

Dumbledore smiled. "Any time, Mr. Black. Oh, and if it's not too much trouble, would you mind lending me that little device you have there some time? It occurs to me that there are a few things I should take care of as well."

"Of course, Professor." Alphard glanced curiously at him, but Dumbledore was already immersed in his work again.

Alphard left, and Harry sank wearily down into one of Dumbledore's chairs. His mind was still swirling. Tom sat down on the floor in front of him and rested his head in Harry's lap, and Harry ran his fingers again and again through the soft curls. Dumbledore glanced up with a little smile, but made no comment.

"I wonder if Alphard will find Regulus alive in the future," Harry whispered.

Dumbledore peered at Harry over his half-moon spectacles. "Oh, I dare say he will, Harry." The future headmaster got up from his desk and poked at the little heap of ashes left at the bottom of Fawkes' cage. Something stirred in response, and a moment after, a bedraggled little head poked out of the ashes. Dumbledore stroked the tiny bird with a gentle finger and chuckled as the fledgling leaned into his touch. "See, he recognizes me; he always does." The scrawny little bird climbed gingerly onto his hand. "Oh, yes, Harry, I think Alphard will find the future full of unexpected wonders. But what exactly he will encounter in the future is difficult to predict."

"My parents?" Harry closed his eyes for a moment and tried to imagine them there, in the future, alive and well. "And Sirius Black? I expect Sirius will still be best friends with my father. They will laugh and tease each other, and my mother will smile and shake her head at them..." The warmth of the thought began to dispel some of the chill of Little Hangleton from his heart.

"What about you, then, Harry?" Tom lifted his head, and his silver eyes met Harry's. "I expect you will want to stay with them in the future, won't you? What about you and me?"

Harry, startled, realized that he had never really considered himself back in a restored future, living with his parents. "I never thought about that, Tom. Will we live in the future, you and I, or will we stay here? I don't know yet. I will want to see my parents often, of course, and get to know them, but I belong with you."

"Perhaps," said Voldemort quietly, "you will find that there is another Harry in the future, already living with you parents?"

"Oh." Harry felt dizzy. "Perhaps there will be-? What a strange thought! Another me, another Harry Potter, who grew up loved by his parents and his godfather, in a world without a Dark Lord?" He thought for a moment. "But this... this other Harry, he won't really be me, though? He won't have my memories - or will he?"

Tom kissed him gently on the lips. "Perhaps he will have strange dreams of a shadowy Dark Lord he has never seen. And perhaps he will feel a curious longing stirring in his heart, although he will never know why..."

Harry shook his head in confusion. "But I still don't understand how any of this is possible, Tom. What made me travel back in time and fall in love with you in the first place? I found an enchanted memory, but it turned out to be my own recollection, my own memory of things I had never experienced yet. What caused me to remember events that had never happened?"

Kind, blue eyes glittered behind Dumbledore's spectacles. The future headmaster of Hogwarts put his quill down for a moment and beamed at his three guests. "Excellent questions, Harry! What made you remember loving Tom before you did? Perhaps the same force that will make the unscarred Harry of the future dream of a Dark Lord who does not exist in his world... The heart knows no reason. But our hearts have wisdom of their own; sometimes they can sense truths that are beyond what our reason can comprehend." He stroked Fawkes' head softly, and the little bird fluted happily in response. "Which came first, the phoenix, or the flame? The question has no meaning, Harry, for the phoenix and the flame are one, eternally bound together. Just like you and Tom..."

Harry rubbed his forehead wearily. "Perhaps my friend Hermione was right about wizards who meddle with time... Wait, Alphard said that, too, didn't he? I wonder if she will hear it from him? No, that can't be; she said that long before I ever met Alphard..." He could feel a headache coming on.

"Come, Harry." Tom took his hand gently. "It is getting very late. You need to rest now. We should go and leave Professor Dumbledore to his work. We have taken up a great deal of your time already, Professor."

"Ah, yes. I do have a few matters to attend to." Dumbledore smiled genially at them.

Harry, Tom and Voldemort walked in silence along the deserted corridors. It was getting very late indeed, and they saw no one except the shimmering pearly shape of Nearly Headless Nick, who gave Voldemort a quizzical glance.

"Ah, Nearly Headless Nick, still as indeterminate as ever, I see?" Voldemort's dark grey eyes glittered. "What a peculiar malady you suffer, from, sir: Near headlessness! I've always wondered how someone can be nearly headless. One would think that headlessness is more clear-cut; one is usually either headless or not."

Sir Nicholas hovered before them in the air for a moment, regarding the three of them with a curious expression on his insubstantial features. Then he emitted a strange little breathy chuckle. "I hardly think you are in any position to be lecturing me about paradoxes, sir!"

Voldemort smiled. "Perhaps not," he said softly.

When they arrived at Tom's door in the teachers' wing, Voldemort paused. "Good night, my sweet assassin." He lips brushed Harry's scar lightly. "It has been a pleasure, my dear. Perhaps we shall meet again one day."

"You are leaving?" Tom looked at him in surprise. "But... But there is still so much I don't understand about you. About me. About us... "

Voldemort smiled slightly. "I think it's best this way, Tom. For you. And for Harry. I will go back to Horace's quarters for tonight, but I will leave in the morning. I think Mr. Gaunt's visit is over. I have assured myself that my ward - that my soul - is in the best of hands."

Harry reached out hesitantly and brushed the rough black cloak. "I think I will miss you."

"Will you?" Voldemort regarded him thoughtfully, his dark grey eyes inscrutable. "But you've got me right here, my dear. The true Tom Riddle, more whole and untarnished that the man he later became. Tom is me, Harry. Or very nearly me, as our noble spectral friend would no doubt have put it."

Tom looked at Voldemort for a long moment. Then he whispered: "You are me, after all, aren't you?" After a slight hesitation, he added softly: "Well, since it's your last night here, Mr. Gaunt, I feel that it would be too cruel to send you back to Horace's. Especially since we don't know where that last vial of amortentia went... Merlin knows Voldemort has been through enough for one night. You are welcome to stay in my quarters for tonight."

...

Voldemort looked around Tom's spacious quarters with a slight smile. "Ah, very nice! You have done well for yourself, Professor Riddle!" His glance swept over the large black four-poster bed with its silver sheets and the bookcases filled with antique books, and he brushed the spines of a few of the volumes of the shelf with a pale hand. "Les Fleurs du Mal? I remember this. Hm, perhaps you had better stick to more wholesome literature, Tom. By the way, do you still have your old diary? The one you kept when you were a student here at Hogwarts?"

Tom hesitated for a moment, then walked over to a dresser and pulled a book out of one of the drawers. "Here you go. My boyhood diary. As you know, I poured my soul into its pages, as so many young people have done." He flung the crumpled old diary into Voldemort's hands.

Voldemort laughed. "But few as thoroughly as you, Tom." He leafed through the pages. "Interesting... So many things I had forgotten... But I recognize this inscription on the flyleaf: I am Lord Voldemort." His glance flickered to Tom, who had grown pale.

"I destroyed that book." Tom and Voldemort both turned at the sound of Harry's voice. "In the Chamber of Secrets. In my second year."

"You did?" Voldemort frowned. "How in Merlin's name did a mere child destroy this book?"

Harry flushed. "With a basilisk fang. I killed the basilisk first."

"Did you, now?" Voldemort looked both puzzled and intrigued.

Tom uttered an oath. "Oh, Merlin, the basilisk! It's still in the chamber, isn't it? I really need to do something about that. I will destroy the basilisk in the morning, and that accursed diary as well."

"Destroy the diary? You are ready to kill your own soul, Tom?" asked Voldemort quietly.

"My soul is right here." Tom wrapped his arms tightly around Harry and kissed him on the forehead.

Voldemort regarded them for a moment, his face impassive. "Are you happy with your life, then, Professor Riddle? Is there no part of you that still longs to be something more?"

Harry glanced uncertainly at Tom, but Tom merely laughed. "Something more-? You are Voldemort, the dread Dark Lord who gave Harry his scar. I am Tom Riddle, Harry's friend and lover. I would never wish to be you." He added softly: "But perhaps there is a part of you that longs to be something more?"

"Something more than the Dark Lord?" Voldemort's lips curled in a slightly ironic smile. "What could be more than that, Tom?"

Tom turned to Harry, a strange glitter in his silver eyes. "Shall we show him, Harry?"

It took Harry a moment to understand. But when Tom took his hand and led him to the four-poster bed, he suddenly flushed. "Tom, you can't be serious..."

"Oh, can't I?" whispered Tom against his lips.

"In front of him?"

"Mmhmmm." Tom's kisses were hard and urgent against his mouth.

Harry glanced uncertainly at Voldemort. The Dark Lord stood immovable, eyes fixed on Harry's face. Was it just Harry's imagination, or did the slightest hint of color brush those pale features now? Harry flushed deeply and returned Tom's kiss. Voldemort's eyes, those dark grey eyes lingering on him... Harry buried his head in Tom's neck and shivered. Tom's breath came faster now, and Harry felt a frantic heartbeat against his chest. Does your heart beat faster under your cloak now as well, my Dark Lord?

Harry and Tom tumbled onto the bed together, tearing at each other's clothes, aflame under the dark inscrutable gaze, fingers brushing over burning skin. Tom undressed Harry slowly, lingeringly, kissing each inch of skin as it emerged from the fabric of his clothes, claiming Harry's flesh with his mouth. Tom's eyes were dark with desire, as dark as Voldemort's, and a hectic color burned in his cheeks. Harry's breath caught in his chest. Tom, beautiful, ravishing Tom... Here, warm in my arms, and there as well, watching in mesmerized silence...

Making love with Tom was always hot and dark and sweet, but being with Tom when Voldemort was watching was beyond belief. Each small sound of pleasure that sprang from their lips magnified that dark and frantic longing Harry sensed pulsing towards them from him, from the other darker Tom. Consumed now, possessed by the yearning in the two pairs of dark grey eyes, beyond reason or shame, Harry tore Tom's clothes off and ran his hands over the warm skin underneath. He turned his head slightly, and his eyes met Voldemort's for a long moment. His hands found Tom's hard shaft, and his touch drew a strangled cry from his lover's lips. Can you feel this too? Are you as hard as Tom under the folds of your dark cloak, I wonder?

"Now, Harry. Now." Tom pushed him frantically down on the silver sheets and covered his limbs with his own. Harry saw Voldemort's eyes widen as Tom whispered the spell; he sensed a dark yearning tugging at him, at them. He cried out incoherently as Tom thrust into him. There was a slight movement across the room, and Harry glanced up and met the Dark Lord's eyes. Harry came undone under that dark gaze; he surrendered himself to Tom's body and Voldemort's eyes. He was falling, flying, swept up in a great black and silver wind, and the black and the silver were one. How can he stand there, so still? No, he won't be able to bear it. Any moment now, he will come over here and press his cold lips against my skin... A moan escaped Harry's lips. But Voldemort never moved or spoke; he simply stood there, silently, his dark eyes fixed on Harry and Tom.

Tom was crying out in pleasure, but Voldemort was silent. But the dark Lord's thoughts were flooding Harry's mind now. He wants me. More than he hungers for power, more than he yearns for immortality. He wants me. He wants us. I can sense his desire, merging with Tom's, becoming one with Tom's...

*I love you, Tom.* Harry's incoherent cry in Parseltongue finally drew a soft moan from across the room. A moment after, Tom and Harry both came, in a rush of serpentine whispers and cries. "My love..." Tom pressed a breathless kiss against his forehead.

A slight rustle now, like the movement of a cloak. Harry gazed up and saw dark eyes, quite near now. He reached out and felt rough fabric against his hand.

"You had better take your cloak off," he whispered.

Voldemort's eyes were black against the pallor of his face. "Lord Voldemort never undresses in front of anyone, my lovely assassin."

Harry and Tom glanced at each other for a brief moment. Then they both reached out and pulled the dark-clad figure down on the bed.

"In that case," breathed Harry against the pallid cheek, "you will no longer be Lord Voldemort."


	27. Chapter 27

From the Diary of Tom Riddle. The Dark Lord's Addendum, September 22, 1945.

Voldemort died twice tonight.

The first time, I died as a younger version of myself at the Riddle House, killed with a kiss by an unknown assassin from the future. Or from the past? I can no longer tell.

The second time, I died in the arms of my green-eyed assassin. And my second death was even sweeter than the first.

I have had many lovers through the years, both men and women, but I have never known a night like this, so sweet and so utterly terrifying.

For ten years, I dreamed of Harry while building the golden time-turner that would bring me to him. At first, my longing was nothing but a wordless ache, a blind want for something I could not quite fathom. I wanted him, but I could not explain to myself exactly how I wanted him. He was mine. He was my horcrux. He was mine, like my precious silver locket, like the diadem, like the cup. As I worked on the delicate golden clockwork, month after month, year after year, I thought about keeping him safe from harm. I wished to safeguard him, like my other horcruxes. And then I remembered that he was beautiful, and I thought that I would like to keep him close to me, to gaze at him. But he was no mere thing; he was a living being who would one day understand what he was to me. Oh, how sweet it was, to imagine that moment when he would look at me and realize that we were one, and that he had no reason to fear me any longer. Then, as the years passed, I began to think that I wanted to touch him, to caress him. I listened to the incoherent musings of Abraxas Malfoy's portrait, and I understood that somewhere in the past, a young Tom Riddle was Harry's lover. His lover! The longing felt sweet and heavy in my limbs, and a fierce desire began to form in my heart. I wanted him, ached for him, longed to hold him in my arms... And tonight, I did.

How I had longed for this moment! I had imagined it over and over, the soft touch of his lips against my mouth, the warmth of his limbs against mine. I had imagined finally becoming one with my horcrux, of burying myself in his warm flesh. I had dreamed of the heat, the passion, the cries...

But I never imagined the strange tenderness that came over me when I first ran my fingers over his skin. His lips met mine tonight, softly, tenderly, willingly, and I felt myself tremble. My desperate search for immortality, my cruelty, my loneliness - it all fell to pieces when his lips touched mine. What is happening to me? The Dark Lord is coming undone, all because of a soft mouth and warm skin and shining emerald eyes. There is more than magic in your eyes, my love...The Boy Who Lived looked into my eyes and whispered impossible words of love, and Voldemort fell apart in his arms. I have gazed into the eyes of many lovers, and I have seen desire, hunger, fear, lust. But tonight, for the first time, I saw love, pure and simple and utterly terrifying, a strange magic I have never known.

He gazed at me with his luminous green eyes and whispered: "I love you, Tom." I smiled a little at his foolishness then, and I was about to remind him that I'm not Tom. But then his eyes met mine, and I hesitated. All of a sudden, an absurd notion began to form in my mind: Perhaps he was right after all. Perhaps I am Tom... Perhaps I had simply forgotten. So I kissed him softly on the forehead and whispered back: "I love you, too."

He tore impatiently at my cloak, and soon it fell to the floor. His kisses fell like rain against my naked skin, and I shivered under his touch. He whispered my name, my true name, against my lips, again and again. I shed more than my cloak in his bed tonight; I shed my very being. I am no longer the Dark Lord; I am Tom. For your lips cannot lie, my love. Yes, I am Tom, I am certain of it now.

I came in his arms, and he kissed me with such tenderness that my eyes filled with tears. Tears? I touched the drops that moistened my cheeks, uncomprehending. How can this be? Lord Voldemort does not weep. What have you done to me, child?

He kissed my tears away, and a moment later, I felt another, gentle mouth against my face. I looked at Tom in wonder, at Harry's beautiful lover, and all at once, something stirred in my mind. I looked at the boy I once was, and I seemed to recall that I once walked over moors covered in purple heather, and that the September sun was golden in the sky.

Tom and Harry both wrapped their arms tightly around me, and we lay there, quietly, and gazed at one another until we finally fell asleep.

I rose from the bed in the soft light of dawn, and I looked out at the new day in wonder. They were both sleeping, Harry and Tom, tangled in each other's limbs, skin still warm from sleep and love. I looked out at the hazy blue of the early morning, and I realized with a start that I am no longer Lord Voldemort. I do not know who I am. Tom? No, Tom is the boy who is sleeping in Harry's arms. I am the man who was loved by a green-eyed boy last night; perhaps that is all I need to know. Yes, I think that is enough.

I let my cloak lie where it had fallen the night before and reached for a few rumpled pieces of clothing from the floor instead. Whose shirt am I wearing, I wonder, Harry's or Tom's? I walked over to the bed and kissed them both softly. Harry stirred gently under my touch, and I saw Tom clasp him tighter in his sleep.

My glance fell on the diary that lay open on the bedside table. I leafed through its pages, curiously, as if I were reading the secret journal of some stranger. Then I found a pen in the drawer and began to write. Once I thought this diary to be the essence of who I was, and I imbued it with a fragment of my own soul. My soul! Oh, how little I understood back then! For I have no soul but the green-eyed boy who is sleeping in the soft light of a September morning. As I write these words, it feels as if some dark shadow is fleeing from the pages of this book. The pages look the same as ever, covered with an elegant, nervous handwriting I recognize as my own. But a darkness has passed from the ink-covered sheets; they are mere words now, written by a boy long ago; no dark soul lingers in the night-black ink.

And I take the pen and add the final words to my diary: I am no longer Lord Voldemort.

...

Harry opened his eyes and saw Tom's face. His Tom, his beautiful Tom. But the other one, the darker Tom of the future, was no longer there; he had vanished with the light of dawn. A dark cloak lay crumpled on the floor, and a book lay open on the table.

Harry reached out and woke Tom with a gentle touch, and they both rose quietly from the bed, reached for their clothes - Harry couldn't find his shirt, so Tom had to get him another one - and read the final pages of the diary together.

"He is gone, then?" Harry glanced up at Tom. "I wonder where he is. Do you think we will ever see him again?"

"Perhaps," said Tom softly, "he traveled to the future, where he will meet a green-eyed boy without a scar..."

They both stood silently for a moment. Then Tom whispered: "The basilisk, Harry. I had forced it out of my mind; I had forgotten all about it until he mentioned it last night. I must do something about it, before the monster harms someone else."

Harry nodded wordlessly. His glance fell on the dark cloak on the floor, and he bent down and picked it up. He rested his cheek against the rough fabric for a moment. Then he tossed the cloak abruptly into the fireplace. He drew his wand. "Incendio!"

"You are getting better at that spell, my love." Tom was pale now.

The flames flickered to life in the grate, and soon the black cloak was consumed by the fire. As the last of the dark fabric dissolved into the flames, Harry sensed a movement by his side. A moment later, and old leather-bound book suffered the same fate as the cloak.

Harry glanced uncertainly at Tom. "You destroyed your diary-?"

"It was about time, Harry." Tom's voice trembled slightly. "Besides, I wasn't the one to destroy the darkness that lingered in its pages. I think he was... Come now, my love."

Harry followed Tom silently out into the deserted corridors. It was still early; no students were to be seen yet.

"How will we kill the basilisk?" He glanced up at Tom as they walked. "I have destroyed it before, with the sword of Gryffindor, but I don't know where the sword is in this time."

"I know more than enough of magic to slay the monster with a curse." Tom reached out for his hand. "And perhaps you do too, Harry..."

But when they arrived at the haunted second floor bathroom, they saw that someone had already been there. The gleaming white marble sinks had shifted, and the dark entrance to the chamber gaped open before them. The indistinct form of a small girl hovered by the doorway.

"Hello, Myrtle," said Harry gently.

A shadow of a smile flitted over the girl's insubstantial features. "Hello, Harry."

Harry blinked. "Wait, how do you know my name? We won't meet each other for almost fifty years..."

Myrtle shrugged and sat down on the overturned white marble sink and dangled her legs. "Time only matters for the living, Harry. It becomes completely irrelevant once you are... once you are...not."

"Who is she?" Tom's face was white.

Harry reached out and brushed the chill that was Myrtle's hand gently. "This is Myrtle, Tom, a friend of mine from the future. She died when the Chamber of Secrets was opened two years ago. When you opened it, Tom... She was the one who was petrified by the basilisk."

Tom stared at the fleeting figure, his eyes wide. "Oh, Merlin. You ... You are... the little girl who died?"

Myrtle nodded solemnly. She leaned her head to one side and regarded Tom thoughtfully. "You are him, aren't you?"

"What? Him who?" Tom leaned, shakily, against the wall.

"The one who opened the chamber. The one who made that terrifying thing rise up from the depths. The one who made me die. It was you, wasn't it?"

Tom was silent for a moment. He was so pale that Harry wondered if he was going to faint. But then Tom reached out, hesitantly, and tried to touch Myrtle's indistinct form. "Yes, Myrtle," he whispered. "Yes, I'm afraid it was me." A hectic flush brushed across his face now. "Perhaps there is a way to undo it still, Myrtle. I will destroy the basilisk now, and then I will find my way back in time to... to the day when you died, and then I will destroy it again, before it can harm you."

Myrtle fluttered slightly. "You would do that? For me?" She turned to Harry. "He is such a gentleman," she whispered softly. "For a murderer, that is... Such a beautiful boy, too." She smiled serenely at Tom. "No need to worry about the basilisk today. You've already destroyed it this morning."

"I... what?" Tom stared at her in absolute comprehension.

"You were already here, don't you remember?" Myrtle giggled slightly. "Oh, you looked different, of course, but it was you all the same. You were not nearly as good-looking a few hours ago, but you were quite gallant. You greeted me ever so politely, and then you apologized for disturbing me. Imagine that! People rarely remember to be polite to ghosts. And then you drew you wand, and you spoke in some strange sibilant language, and the doorway to the chamber opened before you. I didn't dare to follow you, but I heard the noises from within, the horrible noises... And then you stepped out of the passageway and said quite calmly. "The basilisk is dead." And then you stood there for a long time and looked at me, and then you whispered: "Oh, god, you are that little girl, aren't you? The one who died?" And when I nodded, you asked me my name. I told you that my name was Myrtle, and then I asked you yours. At first you just stood there, lost in thought, but then you said that your name was Tom. And then you left, but you paused for a moment in the doorway, and you whispered, so softly I almost couldn't hear it: "I'm sorry." And then you were gone."

"I see." Tom sank down heavily on the white stone floor. He closed his eyes, wearily. After a long moment, he opened his eyes and glanced at the shadowy girl that flittered before him. "Myrtle? I'm... I'm sorry."

Myrtle sat down on the floor next to him. "Yes, I know, Tom. You already told me. But it's nice of you to say so, all the same. Oh, and you left something behind earlier. Over there, that little bottle."

She pointed to a small glass vial that lay on the overturned sink. "You said that you had intended to use it last night, but that you had no need for it any longer."

Harry picked up the small bottle, and stared at the shimmering liquid inside. "The seventh vial of amortentia? He had it, all along?"

"I think he had intended it for you," said Tom softly.

"He said," continued Myrtle, "that I should keep it and make sure it got passed on to someone who needed it." She sighed slightly. "But I don't know who to give it to. I don't get to see people that often. Perhaps the two of you need it?"

Harry and Tom glanced at each other and smiled.

Harry blushed. "No, I don't think we do... But I think I know someone who does."

...

"Elias? Is it true, what they are saying, that Mr. Gaunt is gone?" Eileen Prince sank down in the spot next to Harry at the breakfast table.

"Mr. Gaunt?" Harry hesitated for a moment. "Yes. He is...gone."

"Will he come back?" Her eyes were black, like Snape's.

Harry swallowed. "Perhaps he will, from time to time. Listen, Eileen, there is something I have to tell you."

"What?" She poured herself a cup of tea, rather moodily.

Harry glanced around quickly. All the other Slytherin students seemed engrossed in their own thoughts today. Abraxas didn't even touch his coffee; he merely sat and stared into space, a small smile on his lips. Araminta was glaring at her eggs as if they were particularly offensive this morning, and Alphard simply sat there, looking dazed.

"Eileen," whispered Harry. "Do you know a boy named Tobias?"

"Tobias?" Eileen glanced up in surprise. "Why, yes, that's the name of a Muggle boy I know. Why do you ask about him?" There was a slight flush on her cheeks now.

"He likes you, doesn't he?"

Eileen's face was crimson. "Merlin, Elias, how to you know?"

Harry produced the vial and a small piece of parchment from his pocket. "Eileen, I know that you like him back, even if he is... moody... sometimes. Eileen, if things ever get... bad... between you and Tobias, give him some of this. Don't ever let him treat you badly. Or... or any children that you may have... If he doesn't show you the love and respect you deserve, put a few drops of this in his drink. Then he will see you as the lovely creature you are. The parchment contains precise instructions for making more of the potion, should you ever need it. These instructions are better than the ones in the textbook. Juts make sure your remember the yarrow."

Eileen glanced at the parchment and the vial for a moment. Then she whispered: "Thank you, Elias."

"Elias?" Alphard Black glanced up. There was a grin on his face now. "If you have some time after breakfast, I have a few things to show you. I think you will be surprised."


	28. Chapter 28

Harry followed Alphard out to the rain-sodden Hogwarts grounds, where Tom was waiting for them.

"I just got my time-turner back from Dumbledore," whispered Alphard. "He woke me up at dawn and asked to borrow it. I have no idea what he wanted with it, but he looked as if he hadn't slept all night. I wonder what that was all about..."

Alphard laced the long golden chain of the time turner around all three of them and began to spin the delicate clockwork. "Ready to see the brave new world you have created, Harry?"

Harry nodded silently and grasped Tom's hand tightly. He closed his eyes, and the world around them became a meaningless rush of time and sounds and colors.

When they landed on the grounds of the future Hogwarts a moment after, it was still springtime. The air was fragrant with the scent of lilacs and honeysuckle, and the blue-white light of early morning shimmered over the dew-moistened grass.

"It is about a week earlier now than when you first left your own time, Harry," said Alphard softly. "The students have finished their exams, and they have a few glorious days of freedom left before taking the Hogwarts Express home."

"What about... Harry?" Tom shook the last rain drops out of his dark curls and glanced around. "The one without the scar? Is he here?"

Harry breathed in the sweet-smelling spring air. "There can't be another Harry in this time, Tom. I've been wondering about that too, but I don't think it's possible. When I traveled to the past and back before, there was still only one of me when I got back here. And Ginny traveled to the past and back, too, didn't she? And there's still only one Ginny."

Alphard nodded gravely. "All true, Harry. And yet... Look over there."

Harry followed Alphard's glance down to the lake, where a familiar dark-haired boy was sitting under a tree, gazing out over the glittering water. Another figure, half-hidden in the shade of the tree, sat by his side. Harry felt his heart lurch.

"That boy is... me?"

Alphard nodded silently.

Harry looked at the boy in wonder. How can that be me, when I'm right here? I wonder what he would think if he were to glance up right now and see the three of us here? I wonder if he remembers being me?

He tugged at Alphard's sleeve. "Alphard, that other person next to the boy... It's Sirius, isn't it?" Even at this distance, Harry could make out a mess of long dark curls, and his heart leaped in his chest.

But Alphard shook his head. "No," he said quietly. "That's not Sirius, Harry. Right now, Sirius and his wife are in Godric's Hollow, visiting your parents. The man sitting next to you - to the other you - is Regulus. Come..." He pulled a shimmering cloak out from his pocket and draped it over the three of them. "Let's get closer and hear what they are saying."

They moved invisibly through the grass, leaving only a faint trail in the morning dew, until they were close to the man and the boy under the tree. Harry's breath caught in his throat as he saw the boy's face so near: It was his own face, but softer and more innocent, unblemished by the scar that had marked him...

"It is me..." he whispered.

"No, it's not," breathed Tom in his ear. "Or... not quite you. He's got your green eyes, and your messy hair, but I can't feel his thoughts. I can't sense his soul, as I can yours. He's Harry, but he's not my Harry."

"Perhaps," whispered Alphard, "Voldemort's absence from his life has made him so different from you that the two of you are now two distinct people, Harry. He is no longer exactly you; he is the boy you could have been."

Harry stared at the dark-haired boy, the unscarred Harry of the future. "But his robes... He's wearing Slytherin robes. How can that be? Why would he have been sorted into Slytherin if he is no longer a horcrux? Didn't the Sorting Hat listen to him?"

"Perhaps the Sorting Hat did listen to him, Harry." Tom squeezed his hand. "Perhaps there is a part of you, not just the horcrux, that has always belonged in Slytherin."

"And Regulus... Why is Regulus here at Hogwarts?" Harry's eyes searched the curiously familiar features of Regulus Black. He is Sirius, and he is the boy from Riddle House, all at once. No, not quite Sirius; Sirius never had that faraway dreamy look in his eyes. And Sirius was never patient enough to sit still under a tree in springtime.

Alphard smiled slightly. "My nephew Regulus Black teaches Defense Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts, Harry. He is the sixteen year old Harry Potter's favorite teacher. They spend a lot of time together out here on the grounds, talking to one another."

Regulus turned now and gazed at the boy at his side. "Any more of your curious dreams lately, Harry?" he asked softly.

The boy next to him smiled and twirled his holly wand slowly between his fingers. "Yes, I dreamed about him again last night. This time, he was young, and quite beautiful. I walked with him over the moors, and there was purple heather everywhere... I wonder why I keep dreaming of him?"

"I don't know, Harry." Regulus' voice was soft. "I dream of him, too." He reached out hesitantly and brushed Harry's unruly black hair out of his eyes. "Perhaps I should never have told you of the Dark Lord, and of the murder I committed in the Riddle House years ago. But somehow, it felt right to tell you. Something told me that you would understand."

The dark-haired boy closed his eyes. "It's strange... When you told me about killing the Dark Lord, it felt almost as if I remembered it too, as if I were there with you in the Riddle House that day, seeing it all through your eyes." The boy smiled and glanced up at Regulus. "Don't tell my parents. They will think it's that unwholesome Slytherin atmosphere that's having an effect on me, and then my father will try to hex the Sorting Hat again."

Regulus laughed. "If it were up to your father, you would be spending all your time playing Quidditch rather than listening to old stories of a long-dead dark wizard. James doesn't even want you to take Defense Against the Dark Arts next year, does he?"

"No, he doesn't. He says there's no need to worry about such nonsense in this day and age, and that I should focus on my Quidditch instead."

Regulus gazed dreamily out over the glittering lake. "Your father is a good man, Harry. But I'm not so sure he is right about the Dark Arts. I think we need to worry about them. Lord Voldemort is long dead, it's true, but I am concerned about some of the news we are hearing from other parts of Europe. Karkaroff is gathering quite a few followers in the north, and some of their ideas are rather disturbing. Karkaroff dreams of a new pure-blood society. His followers regard him as some sort of prophet, but I have heard these ideas before, Harry. I hear that Karkaroff has taken to calling himself "The Dark Prince" these days... Perhaps there will always be a Dark Lord, Harry, as long as there is darkness in the human heart."

A distant sound, like dogs barking madly, interrupted him. Regulus smiled. "It seems that your friends are looking for you, Harry."

Under the cloak, Harry turned to Alphard, bewildered. "I've got dogs?"

Alphard grinned. "They are not... exactly dogs, Harry." He pointed out two small white puppies darting around in the distance. "Those are Sirius' children, Alba and Finian, two of your best friends. They are animagi, of course, like their father."

"Sirius' children? Who's their mother?" Harry stared at the two tumbling puppies, chasing each other madly around the grounds.

"Oh, you know her, I think. Rosmerta, the barmaid at the Three Broomsticks."

"Madam Rosmerta?" Harry pondered this for a moment. "Sirius married Rosmerta? Well, she is very pretty..."

Tom stared at Alphard. "What? Walburga and Orion Black's son married a barmaid and gave both his children names that mean "white"? That must have annoyed Walburga no end."

Alphard's grin broadened. "Oh, it did. I think that was the idea. He always was the white sheep of the Black family, Sirius."

Under the tree by the lake, the other Harry glanced hesitantly up at Regulus Black. "I've sometimes wondered, Regulus: How come you've never married, like Sirius?"

Regulus Black sat in silence for a moment, staring out over the shining Hogwarts lake. Then he whispered softly: "Perhaps I'm not a marrying man, Harry."

"Oh." The other Harry sat still for a moment, a slight flush brushing his cheeks. Then he whispered, so quietly that it was difficult to hear him: "Somehow, I'm glad that you are not..."

The two mischievous white dogs had found them now, and they came loping through the grass towards Harry. As they passed the three silent figures under the cloak, the dogs hesitated briefly, as if they sensed an unfamiliar presence. Harry held his breath, wondering if the dogs had caught their scent. But the other Harry called out to the dogs, and they ran happily towards him. The boy scrambled to his feet, laughing, and chased after the white dogs, while Regulus Black remained under the tree, eyes trailing Harry as he ran over the grounds.

"What about Ron and Hermione, then?" Harry whispered under the cloak. "Am I still friends with them as well?"

Alphard nodded. "Of course you are, Harry. How could you not be? You are all friends: you, Ron, Hermione, Alba, and Finian. You spend so much time together that Ginny has begun to call you "The five marauders"..."

Harry smiled. "Are Ron and Hermione still together, then?"

Alphard grinned. "Of course. And bickering as much as ever. Some things never change."

Harry pressed Tom's hand. "And some things do... What about my parents, Alphard? Can I see them?"

"Of course. Let's go to Godric's Hollow."

...

The small house was surrounded by a pleasant garden. Pink rhododendron and white hawthorn stood in bloom, and fragrant purple wisteria climbed the garden walls. Four people were sitting in the grass, while a fifth, a small child, was climbing all over them. Harry's breath hitched as he recognized his red-haired mother and his dark-haired father, a bit older than in the pictures he had seen, laughing in the morning sunlight. The mirror of Erised. I am looking into the mirror of Erised... And there was the golden-haired and dark-eyed Rosmerta, as lovely as ever, and there was Sirius, his grey eyes sparkling as he helped the small dark-haired boy carve a little toy wand out of a wisteria twig.

"Now, don't you go around cursing people with that, do you hear me, Will?"

"I won't," promised Will solemnly. Then he added, as an afterthought: "Unless they are dark wizards, of course."

"Well, of course." Sirius grinned at him.

The boy watched closely as his toy wand took shape under Sirius' deft fingers. "Won't Harry be amazed to see that I have a wand of my own!" He frowned a little. "When is Harry coming back? I miss him."

Lily smiled at him and stroked his unruly black hair. "Very soon, Will. Your brother will be back from Hogwarts in just a few days."

"He's my brother?" whispered Harry under the cloak. He couldn't tear his glance away from the small boy. "I have a brother?"

The little boy's green eyes glittered. "What about uncle Sev, mum? Will he come here soon, too?"

"Of course, Will. We will ask Severus and Bella over for tea very soon." Lily's voice was soft. "Uncle Sev is almost done with teaching for the semester, just a few more days..."

Harry felt dazed. Why on earth would his parents want to invite Snape for tea? And Bellatrix? Surely, even the absence of Voldemort didn't make Bellatrix less of a death eater?

"Good. I miss uncle Sev." Will turned his attention back to the wand in progress.

Sirius ruffled the boy's hair. "What, I'm not fun enough for you, Will?"

The little boy sighed. "You are always fun to play with, uncle Sirius, but you are Harry's godfather. Uncle Sev is mine, you know."

James groaned. "I blame you for this, Lily. I told you we should have made Remus his godfather instead, but no, you insisted..."

Lily looked sternly at her husband. "Oh, stop being silly, James. Severus is the best godfather Will could possibly have. He simply adores the child... Too bad Severus and Bellatrix don't have any children of their own; Severus would have made such a good father."

Sirius grimaced. "Please don't go there, Lily. I'm having a hard enough time grasping the fact that Sniv... sorry, Severus... is married. I can't imagine what dark spells he must have cast on Bella to make her agree to marry him. But the notion of a Severus junior is just too revolting."

James chuckled, but Lily looked annoyed. "Please, Sirius. Severus is a dear, dear friend, and I will not have you talk about him in that tone. For Merlin's sake, grow up and put those silly school day rivalries behind you. I think it's wonderful to see Severus and Bellatrix so happy together. Your cousin adores him, Sirius."

"That's because she's insane. Always was, the lovely Bella. Here, Will, your wand is all done." Sirius handed the twig to the little boy, who immediately ran off with it, muttering weird syllables under his breath.

Lily let out an long sigh. "Insane? So were Rosmerta and I, for falling in love with men as exasperating as you and James."

"Absolutely." Rosmerta smiled.

Sirius leaned over and kissed his wife tenderly. "I am grateful for that insanity, Rosmerta..."

Will pointed his wand at them. "Hey, knock it off, or I'll curse you, uncle Sirius."

"So sorry, young Will." Sirius straightened up. "Hey, better watch your parents, Will, they are kissing too..."

James and Lily broke apart, giggling, upon seeing Will's stern little face as he pointed his wisteria twig menacingly at them.

"I always did wonder how two such difficult people as Bella and Severus could fall in love," Rosmerta mused, closing her eyes and turning her face to the sun.

Lily smiled a little. "They are both rather complicated people, aren't they? But Severus told me once that he had learned the secret to a happy marriage from his mother... I wonder what it was. I know his parents were besotted with each other to the very end. So sweet, isn't it?"

"Touching." James flopped down in the grass, closing his eyes.

Harry touched Alphard's hand gently under the invisibility cloak. "I've seen enough, Alphard. Let's go back to Hogwarts."

"Are you sure? Don't you want to stay longer?"

Harry shook his head, blinking away a tear. "There is no point, Alphard. I'm... I'm so happy to see them, happier than you can possibly imagine, but... But I don't belong here, do I? The other Harry does, the one who has grown up with them, the one who knows them. He is their son; I'm just... someone who remembers strange things that never were..."

"We will come back and see them later, won't we, Harry?" Tom breathed in his ear. "We will watch over them, my love, over your parents, and you little brother, and over the boy you could have been..."

Harry nodded, unable to speak.

...

Ginny was waiting for them back at the Hogwarts grounds. She reached out for Alphard's hand and glanced uncertainly at Harry. "Are you all right, Harry?"

"I suppose so..." Harry breathed deeply. "There has been a lot of changes... I have a little brother now."

"I know," said Ginny softly. "My little sister plays with him sometimes."

Faint laughter echoed among the trees, and Harry turned towards the sound. Three figures were walking slowly over the Hogwarts grounds in the bright morning light, their long cloaks fluttering behind them. The sunlight shafting through the ancient oak trees dappled the grounds and their billowing cloaks in green and gold.

"Who are they?" he whispered to Alphard.

But Alphard simply shook his head and whispered back, bewildered: "I have no idea, Harry."

At first, Harry couldn't quite make out who they were, only that they were very old and moved with a mysterious grace. As they drew closer, he saw that their lined faces resembled one another strangely, as if they were simply mirror images of one another. But then, with a start, he recognized the figure in the middle as Dumbledore. But Dumbledore seemed strangely different now; something about him seemed so suddenly and curiously right, as if he had always been meant to walk with these two figures by his side.

As they approached, Harry saw that the figure on Dumbledore's right was a woman, and that the one on his left was a man. They both had long white hair that danced in the light breeze. Dumbledore spoke, so softly that Harry could not hear his words, and his two companions leaned their heads slightly towards him. There was a strange tenderness in their movements, as if the old man's words were infinitely precious to them both.

The three faces must once have been quite dissimilar; there were traces of a slight timidity in the woman's features, and something in the lines of the face of Dumbledore's male companion that suggested that he had once been a cruel man. But their faces had grown oddly similar with age; the years had robbed the three companions of their individual expressions and replaced them with the serenity of old age.

"Who are they?" whispered Tom.

Ginny smiled. "They are the three heads of Hogwarts, Tom. They have been here for as long as anyone can remember. They are the three guardians of Hogwarts. The one in the middle is Professor Albus Dumbledore; of course you know him. The lady to his right is his sister, Professor Ariana Dumledore, and the man to his left is Professor Grindelwald. Together, they have run Hogwarts with great wisdom and compassion for many, many years. It seems impossible to imagine Hogwarts without them... Before he became head, Professor Grindelwald used to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts, and they say that he understood the dark arts like no other. Lady Ariana, as she is often called, used to teach Herbology, for she loves everything that grows and lives. And Albus Dumbledore used to teach transfiguration, for he understands the mysteries of change and transformation better than anyone else."

The three figures smiled slightly as they strolled past Harry. Then they walked towards the ancient castle in the distance, their soft laughter lingering in the spring air.


	29. Epilogue

Somewhere, at the very edge of the world, lies a small island that has no name. It is little more than a weathered rock in the blue-grey waters; a wanderer could walk easily from one side of the island to the other in a quarter of an hour. The winds are always blowing in from the ocean: a sweet southern wind on warmer days, and a bitter north wind in the winter. There is only one hidden corner of the island where the wild winds can't reach, a calm bay nestled under the steep rocks on the western edge. A solitary white house, surrounded by a garden, overlooks the windless waters of the bay.

Two men live there, sheltered from the wind. Those who have seen them speak of their beauty; one of them has eyes the color of emeralds, and the other's eyes are silver. But emerald and silver mean little to the fisherfolk who travel here, and soon their stories change: One man has eyes the color of the distant southern seas, and the other's eyes resemble northern waters in winter.

Their house is old and creaky and filled with books which they read during the winter nights. But in the summer, the two friends sit in their garden and look out over the sea. The few fishermen who ever cross the sea here whisper among themselves that the garden must be enchanted, for the soil is usually salty and barren by the sea. But in this garden, wild red apples, plump golden cherries and wine-dark currants grow in profusion, and there are roses and lavender and fragrant herbs. Two evergreen trees grow by the front door, their branches curiously intertwined: A bright green holly tree and a darker yew. The fishermen wonder at those strange trees, for no other evergreens have ever grown in this bracken soil.

The inhabitants of the house have a small boat, but they seldom have need to leave their island. A few minutes of lazy fishing from the rocks will bring in silvery mounds of cod and coalfish and mackerel; the two friends seem to need nothing else.

But every so often in the summer, when the breeze blows warm from the south and the waters are calm, friends from far away come and visit them and stay for a few days on their island in the sea. How the visitors get there, no one knows. No boats or ships are ever seen, but suddenly, the garden is filled with people laughing and talking. In the long daylight hours, the visitors swim in the bay and roam across the rocky cliffs. At nightfall, they gather around a bonfire by the water's edge and roast fish on makeshift wooden spits and tell each other strange and wonderful stories of other times and places. There are tales of magic and love, of darkness and light, and of curious twists of time and fate. One of the guests is a dark-haired boy with south-sea eyes, so similar to one of the two men who live there that the fishermen whisper among themselves that they might be long-lost twins. The visiting boy and his parents and his young brother speak softly of little things, of a small house in a distant village, of friends who linger with them on Sunday afternoons, and of a wondrous school far away. The two men who live on the island listen in breathless silence, as if these vignettes of ordinary days are the most marvelous tales of them all. A red-haired family with many children talks of a quiet boy from nowhere who fell in love with their daughter and whisked her away to a distant land, while a grey-eyed man with long dark curls speaks of evil rising in the north, and of courage and resistance.

They all sit around the fire and laugh and share stories until the sky grows dark over the silver-black water and the children slowly fall asleep in the grass. But when the fire burns low towards morning and all their other friends drift off to sleep, the dark-haired boy who has come to visit rests his head in the lap of the man with long black curls, and they speak in a whisper of a dear friend, a mysterious dark-clad traveler who weaves in and out of their lives. And the two men who live on the island smile and whisper that they know him too.

But when the long summers are over and the winds blow icily from the north, the two men go into their little house and lose themselves in each other's company until next spring. They read strange old books and speak of curious things and look out over the ever-changing sea.

But sometimes, even in the bitter cold of winter, when the wild winds sigh across the waters, a third figure can be seen against the lamp-lit windows of the little house. Who this mysterious visitor is and where he comes from, no one knows. He seems to come with the storm and leave when the waters are calm. Some whisper that he is a ghost or a spirit of some sort, for he is only glimpsed when the ocean is too wild for travel. Others say that he is nothing but a dream.

~The end~


End file.
